


Hidden and Unknown

by thedepressedwriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Romance, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26233195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedepressedwriter/pseuds/thedepressedwriter
Summary: ON HIATUS When Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts to teach all is well, and why shouldn't it be? After all, it has been 8 years since Voldemort's fall. But when students mysteriously disappear and two renowned Death Eaters are on the loose, things change and tensions rise...with someone who seems to be the only one to know the truth in a web of lies. Namely, Draco Malfoy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Hidden and Unknown: Prologue

**Disclaimer: Anything you might recognize from the Harry Potter franchise belongs to J.K. Rowling and her team. I unfortunately only own the plot and nothing more, although I wish I could acquire Draco.**

Prologue:  
The morning smelt of rain and grass. A few stray rays of sunlight filtered through the thick grey clouds, making the dew drops on the petals and leaves glisten. The small garden seemed to be covered in dull sparkles. The sweet aromas of roses, lavender, jasmine, and cherry trees wafted through the early breeze mixing with the musky earth undertones and creating a fresh scent that Hermione loved. Her mum had always loved roses, lavender, and jasmine, hence the numerous flowers of different colors and varieties, whereas her dad had always preferred cherry trees, saying it reminded him of his trip to Japan with mum where he proposed to her. For him, she planted three sakura. It had been 8 years since she had last seen them. She felt the tears prickle my eyes, so I hastily tried to think of something else. It hurt too much to remember.

She turned to her favorites, the orange and lemon trees. Since she was a small girl, she had always had a penchant for citrus fruits, thus the three orange trees and the two lemon ones. A few touches of magic helped to keep the place nice, warm, and balanced, resulting in constant blooming flowers and growing fruits. After plucking her daily morning orange, she headed back inside of the small house to brew herself a hot mug of milk coffee with three sugars. She had acquired this small cottage on the outskirts of London a few years ago. At the time, it was in dire need of reparations, but after a couple of changes, it was as good as new. It became her safe little haven, a break from the hustle and bustle of the big city, a place that belonged sorely to her, somewhere she could retreat to and get some peace. She picked up her breakfast tray, carried it outside, and sat down at the little table in the garden to enjoy it calmly before a long day at the ministry.

Suddenly, she heard a flutter of wings. A large barn owl landed on the spare chair. It was carrying a letter with what she recognized to be the Hogwarts coat of armor. Excitedly, she quickly untied the letter from the owl’s leg, opened it, and read:

“Dear Miss Granger,

I hope you are doing well. It has been quite a few years since we last saw each other and I am growing old. It is quite a task to teach and take care of our beloved school. I have been looking for a new Transfiguration professor for some time now, and I found myself unable to find a well-qualified teacher to replace me. As I remember your stellar performances in my class, I would be very pleased to see you take upon my offer. There is barely a week left before the start of term and I am therefore hoping that you will accept to teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts. Worry not, I have already spoken with Kingsley who, although reluctantly, agreed to let you go. Would you be willing to take on this post? Please send me an answer as quickly as possible, as it is of the utmost importance.

Best regards,

Minerva McGonagall,  
Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry”

Hermione quickly grabbed some parchment, her favorite eagle feather quill, and some ink.

“Dear Professor McGonagall,” she wrote.  
“I am delighted to hear from you. Since all has been cleared with the Minister, it would be a great honor for me to take this position at Hogwarts. I will gladly join you on September 1st. I am already looking forward to being back within Hogwarts’ walls.

Best regards,

Hermione Jean Granger”

Quickly reading over and checking her letter, she turned to the owl waiting patiently at her side.  
“Would you please be so kind as to take it back for Professor McGonagall?” She asked tying the roll of parchment to its leg.  
The owl let out a small hoot in agreement and spread her powerful wings, quickly disappearing in the sky between the clouds. She thought about notifying Harry, but decided against it, figuring he would find out through the Daily Prophet. It would be quite a nice surprise. As for Ron… she had last seen him at the Burrow during Easter, and then he quickly went back to New York. Although he understood his reasons, she missed him dearly and it still pained her. A small part of her still loved him as more than her best friend. “Oh well,” she thought. “No point in dwelling on the past.” Besides, nothing could ruin her day now that she had a wonderful new job to look forward to.

**Author's note: Well, thanks for reading this. This is my first fanfic so I hope it wasn't too bad and you enjoyed it. Please please please REVIEW! I would really like to hear other people's opinions and critiques on my story. Also, I promise that the next chapters will be longer. B-bye!**   
**Daya**


	2. Hidden and Unknown: Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Everything still belongs to J.K. Rowling and I have yet to figure out how to acquire Draco Malfoy. So yeah, only the plot is mine.**

Chapter 1:  
A few days later, Hermione stood in front of the Kings Cross station in muggle London, her many suitcases filled to the brim with books next to her. It was just like being a scared 1st year all over again. Taking a deep breath in, she entered and walked briskly across the hall to platforms nine and ten. As she crossed the magical gateway leading to platform nine and three quarters, a warm, bubbly feeling of excitement filled her body and excitement which only grew at the sight of the scarlet wagons of the Hogwarts Express. All around her parents rushed pushing trolleys charged with heavy trunks, bidding goodbye to their children. Greetings, laughter, cries, and comforting words filled the air, the low hooting of owls swallowed by the steam coming from the train’s engines. The whole platform was buzzing with activity, and a wave of nostalgia suddenly hit her as she remembered her days as a young student heading to Hogwarts: the first time she met Harry and Ron in the train, the excitement she felt at the sight of the school’s gigantic library, their many adventures, Fred and George’s pranks, the holidays at the Burrow…

She was pulled out from her reverie as a group of paparazzi pushed her, crowding around a person who has just stepped onto the platform. She craned her neck trying to get a good look at the unknown figure, whom she instantly recognized when she saw messy black hair crowning a smiling, but slightly irritated face sporting bright green eyes adorned with round glasses.  
“Harry!”, she shouted, swerving her trolley right and left, trying to reach her best friend. The Boy Who Lived looked up and a large grin formed on his handsome features as he enveloped Hermione in a tight hug.  
“ ‘Mione what are you doing here? ” He asked letting her go as the cameras around them clicked.  
“I could ask you the same question,” she replied taking a step back and smiling brightly.  
People were now whispering and looking curiously at the pair as they made their way through the large crowd of wizards and witches. Reporters were yelling various questions that Harry and Hermione dutifully ignored.

When they finally settled down in a compartment at the back of the train after several minutes, she turned to him and asked again:

“So what’s bringing you back to Hogwarts? Auror business?”  
“Well, they were out of Defence against the Dark Arts teachers again,” he laughed. “So McGonagall invited me and I accepted to teach for a year.”  
“That is fantastic Harry,” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”  
“I was honestly so busy stressing, packing, and putting my last days with Ginny to good use, that I completely forgot to tell you and Ron.”  
At the mention of the redhead, Hermione felt a twinge of pain in her chest, which she quickly pushed back, teasing the young man facing her instead.  
“Making good use of your last days with Ginny, huh?”  
“W-well,” he stuttered blushing.  
“Oh, Harry!” She smirked.”Ginny already lets most of the details out during our girls' nights, no need to play innocent. From her tales, you are quite a brilliant partner.”  
Harry, who was now completely red, hastily changed the subject:  
“What about you? I don’t suppose you’re just going to Hogwarts for a visit.”  
“No, McGonagall asked me to teach Transfiguration as she found it quite hard to keep up with her classes and Headmistress duties,” she replied proudly.  
“I always thought you would end up teaching someday, even if it were just for a short period.”  
“Really?”

They talked for several hours about everything and nothing, just like best friends do. They shared news and stories, remembered their days at Hogwarts, got into a heated discussion about Quidditch, stopping only to buy some sweets from the Trolley Witch. When they neared Hogsmeade, the sky was already ink-black outside. Harry had changed into a simple grey Auror suit, while Hermione wore a set of elegant dark burgundy robes lined with golden thread. As the students exited the train, she quickly passed through the compartments checking that no one stayed behind. Reassured, she left the train, following Harry who was already climbing into one of the many carriages pulled by thestrals. Further along the road, Hogwarts stood majestically, its many towers and turrets outlined in the dull shine of the stars. Warm light filtered through the castle’s windows, reflecting on the calm surface of the Black Lake. Hermione turned to look at Harry: his eyes were glazed with teats, happiness, or sadness, she did not know. She took his hand, gripping it softly. She knew how much Hogwarts meant to him, it had been his first true home. Nevertheless, the castle’s walls held as many bad memories as good ones. Many had suffered, many innocent lives were lost during the last battle…

Their carriage slowly screeched to a stop. Harry and Hermione crossed the giant entrance gates, filling into the Great Hall after the students. Some had spotted them and where whispering, but the bulk of them was already inside of the Hall.  
“Miss Granger, Mr. Potter!” A voice called out. She turned, dragging Harry behind her as she made her way to Headmistress McGonagall who was standing near the Grand Staircase.  
“Headmistress McGonagall!” She exclaimed.  
“Minerva, please, after all, you are not my students anymore. You are teachers just like me, albeit quite young,” the old woman smiled.  
She looked just like always, dressed in emerald green robes, a pointed black hat resting on her silver hair tied back into a neat chignon at the nape of her neck. Square glasses framed her kind but strict blue eyes.

Hermione hadn’t realized how nervous she was until she crossed the doors leading to the Great Hall. The room looked spectacular, just as she remembered: four long tables filled with students dressed in black robes stood in the middle, red, green, blue, and yellow banners adorned with each House’s crest stretched across the walls, the ceiling was a mix of swirling rich purple and deep blue clouds sprinkled with silver stars, akin to the sky outside, under it, a myriad of candles floated, casting their tumbling golden glow on the pearlescent ghosts swooping around. The whole hall had become quiet at the sight of the Headmistress advancing towards the teachers’ table at the form in a swish of robes. But, as Hogwarts’ pupils saw Hermione and Harry trailing behind McGonagall the incessant chatter started again, louder than ever before. Hermione heard a sharp intake of breath next to her. Glancing, she saw Harry tense under the scrutinizing gazes. “He must be even more anxious than I am,” she thought.  
“Hey,” she breathed from the corner of her mouth. “It’s alright, don’t worry. I’m just as nervous as you are.”  
“If you are worried ‘Mione, then I am downright terrified,” he whispered back and squeezing her hand painfully as if trying to steady himself.  
“Ouch, Harry!” She hissed.  
“Sorry.”

After what seemed like hours, they finally reached the table. Hermione quickly counted the professors already seated. Professor Flitwick was there along with Professor Hooch, Professor Trelawney, Professor Sinistra, Professor Babbling (she is the Ancient Runes professor), Professor Binns surprisingly who was just floating around, Professor Ethelyn Nightshade (new Muggle Studies professor), Professor Vector ( she is the Arithmancy professor), Neville, or better said Professor Longbottom who had replaced Professor Sprout shortly after the war, Hagrid, Madam Pince, and Filch. Professor Slughorn was missing, she noticed. Two vacant seats were then left on either side of the Headmistress’ gold and magenta chair. McGonagall went up the small staircase leading to the Owl Lecturn, gesturing for Harry and Hermione to follow her. She stepped forward on the small podium, leaving them standing awkwardly a few feet behind her. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. Instantly, the Hall became silent.  
“Welcome back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, dear students. I hope you were all able to rest during your holidays and came back ready to learn and work hard. Please behave yourselves, I do not want to witness anything like last year’s occurrences and I will not tolerate any disregard for rules from any of you.”  
A few nervous chuckles rang out.  
“The Forbidden Forest is as always off-limits and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, kindly asked me to remind you that items from Zonko’s Joke Shop or Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes are prohibited inside of the castle and its grounds. Now, as you all know, Professor Slughorn and Professor Imago (former DADA professor) have both retired after teaching many years at our beloved school.  
“Slughorn retired? I did not know that, who is his successor?” Thought Hermione, panicking slightly. She hated being unaware of important details.  
“I have found it quite difficult to teach and direct the school at the same time.” Continued McGonagall. “Fortunately for you and me, I have found perfect replacements. It seems like our Potions Professor is still missing, but I am very pleased to present to you, your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Potter, and your new Transfiguration teacher, Professor Granger!” She finished.

Loud cheers erupted across the entire Great Hall. Gripping Harry by the arm, Hermione graciously stepped forward and smiled. The warm response to their presence filled her with joy and she felt Harry relax next to her as well. As the applause finally quieted down, she spoke:  
"Thank you, Professor McGonagall, for inviting us back to Hogwarts. I am very happy to be here again and it is an honor for me to have the chance to teach here.”  
“Hogwarts offers so many new and wonderful opportunities,” Harry added. “Don’t waste them all hunting down Voldemort or someone else like I did.”  
Most laughed at that, but some shivered at the mention of his name, obvious distress showing on their faces. Hermione sat down at her seat. She hadn’t noticed how hungry she was. Professor McGonagall was about to announce the commencement of the feast when all of a sudden Hall’s doors swung open. A tall man stood at the threshold, clad in long black robes.  
“Well,” said Professor McGonagall stonily. “Looks like our new Potions Professor decided to grace us with his presence and did deem it necessary to attend the Feast in the end.”  
Hermione watched, jaw hanging open, eyes wide and shocked as Draco Malfoy calmly walked towards the teacher’s table.

**Author’s note: First official chapter is finally up! So this was kind of an introduction to their lives at Hogwarts, I promise the real story will start soon, in a few chapters or so. I have a couple of chapters written out so I’ll try to post them within the next few days. Has anyone else watched the “Back to Hogwarts” live this morning? Although I was happy to hear from Bonnie Wright, Jason Isaacs, and James and Oliver Phelps I was kind of disappointed by the whole thing. I guess I expected something greater. Also, such a shame that Emma Watson or Daniel Radcliffe don’t partake in anything related to Harry Potter anymore. Ok, I’m done babbling. Please review!**   
**B-bye!**   
**Daya**


	3. Chapter 2: Staircase

**Disclaimer: Still don't own anything but the plot, everything belongs to J.K. Rowling**

Chapter 2: Staircase  
With a flick of his wand, Draco opened the big heavy doors leading to the Great Hall. He paused slightly at the threshold, taking it all in. Nothing had changed, it looked identical to the Great Hall from his Hogwarts years. Students, and more specifically girls, stared and whispered as he walked by, his long dark cloak sweeping the floor behind him. When he reached the teachers’ table, he strutted up the small staircase laying to the Headmistress’ podium. Bowing slightly to McGonagall who was looking expectantly at him, he greeted her:  
“I apologise for my tardiness, Minerva. I had some last minute business affairs to attend to.”  
Sighing and nodding, the elderly witch turned to the students.  
“Well,” she said an exasperated tone piercing through her calm demeanour. “I present to you your new Potions Teacher, Professor Malfoy.” A polite applause with only a few cheers here and there rung out.  
“Looks like my evil Slytherin Malfoy reputation preceded me,” though Draco disdainfully. As he made his way to his seat, he quickly glanced over the already present teachers, his gaze freezing on Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.  
“Hmm, interesting…” he mumbled. Draco carefully observed them, evaluating and considering, noting that Potter hadn’t changed appearance-wise, whereas Granger looked more mature and feminine, more refined. Suddenly, she looked up and their eyes met for a few seconds before she quickly lowered her eyes at her empty plate. She did not appear to be particularly please to see him and neither did Potter. He smirked. Hogwarts suddenly seemed very promising.

* * *

The feast was already over and the Great Hall nearly empty when Draco left it. He walked to his new rooms, near the Astronomy Tower on the top floor. He had specifically requested for one of the large suites near the top of the castle with floor to ceiling niche windows, having grown tired of the Slytherin dungeons. He enjoyed the night, the peace and quiet of the hallways during the late hours, when the silvery moonlight shined through the glass windows, casting mysterious shadows. He thus decided to take a small detour and explore Hogwarts a bit like he used to do.

Lost in his thoughts he swerved right at the end of a corridor and ascended one of the moving staircases when he suddenly felt a soft body ramming into his. A small cry of shock and pain echoed. He immediately reached out, grabbing the unknown woman by the waist and steadying her. He looked down at her and once again, fiery brown eyes met his cold silver ones, not noticing that his pale hands were still wrapped around her waist or feeling the warmth emanating from her and invading his body.  
“Oi! MALFOY! Get your hands off Hermione!” Said Potter appearing around the corner. Draco immediately released Granger as if he had been burned.  
“I advise you to calm down Potter,” he said flatly. “I just avoided your pretty little friend here a night at the Hospital Wing because of an unfortunate fall down the stairs.”  
“Next time, watch where you’re going and you won’t go around knocking down people and having to catch them,” she intervened, glaring intensely at him.  
“You ran into me!”  
“I did no such thing!” She fired back. “I was minding my own business and then you just…”  
“False,” he cut her off.  
“Will you cease? Both of you?” Asked Potter watching them sternly.  
“Harry…”  
“No, Hermione. We can’t afford to go picking fights with Malfoy on our first night already. Trust me, I wish I didn’t have to see the slimy git ever again but we are fucking adults and we need to start acting like it.”  
“I am still here so if you would mind toning down the rudeness it would be appreciated. Wouldn’t it be, more adult-wise?” Scoffed Draco.  
“No asked you to intervene, Malfoy, you would do well to shut up!” Snapped Granger and spinning around, she stalked off. After shooting him an odd look, Potter followed her quickly disappearing in the shadows. The blonde man growled. The fight had been so pointless and just downright childish, he had only helper Granger out. He was bemused by his own actions, not understanding why he had lost his cool. The bushy-hair Gryffindor just had that thing about her, infuriating him with her mere presence. Deciding it was enough for the night, he turned around and went back to his rooms, his mind still on the occurrence, not knowing he wasn’t the only one mulling it over and over again.

**Author's note: YAY! Our first Dramione interaction. This was a pretty short chapter but I decided to cut it off here as the next one (which I'll try to post tomorrow) will be from Hermione's POV. I promise this will not be a fluffy fic (I hate them). The real angst and drama will come soon enough, I just have to set the tone first. Anyways, hope you liked it and please review!**


	4. Chapter 3: Class

**Disclaimer: Still don't own anything, everything belongs to J.K. Rowling**

Chapter 3: Class

Hermione did not sleep well that night. Apart from being nervous as it was her first-day teaching, she could not stop thinking about the argument with Malfoy. It was so…unnecessary and honestly stupid. She chastised herself for caring into her emotions and losing her temper. Embarrassed she remembered how Harry had needed to intervene, telling her afterward that she had never seen her act so rashly and fight without a valid reason. She mulled all of this over and over again while desperately trying to tame her wild hair. Giving up, she tied her hair into a high ponytail and threw on some light, periwinkle blue robes. All those hours spent shopping with Ginny had paid off and she now owned several beautiful pieces although most of her wardrobe still consisted of comfortable, casual muggle clothing and standard black, dark red, or gray robes. Finally ready, she left her room and found Harry sitting in the small cozy common room they shared. It looked like a small version of the Gryffindor Common Room with cozy couches, a big fireplace, several bookcases, and large, beautiful, blue stained glass windows. An ornate wooden door on each side of the room led to their respective rooms with private bathrooms.

“Let’s go,” she said to Harry who stood up and threw an arm around her shoulders as they left for the Great Hall. In the corridors already full of students, people turned around pointing at them and whispering. Both of them were used to this and ignored it. Suddenly, a platinum blonde head appeared in the crowd. Harry threw her a warning glance and she sighed, reminding herself that they were all adults:

“Look, I’ll make things right after breakfast, okay?”

“Hermione, I hate the bloody arse just as much as you do, but don’t let him get to you, please.”

“I know I’ve been angry at myself since last night for what happened.”

He simply nodded.

* * *

Breakfast was nearly over and Harry was already gone when Hermione finished eating and re-reading her notes. Only she and Malfoy along with a couple of students remained. Walking over to the former Slytherin, she took a couple of deep breaths.

“Okay, calm down,” she thought. “Don’t let him rule you up.”

“Look Malfoy, I’m sor...”

“I don’t need your apologies, Granger,” he scoffed. “I think we both know that whatever that was that happened yesterday, it was a pointless and childish discussion which you initiated.”

“I...”

“I heard Weaselbee left you and moved to the U.S. I don’t think you will have any problem finding a replacement wearing that,” he continued looking pointedly at her chest.

“Damn it, Ginny!” She thought. “ I told her the neckline was too plunging, but she convinced me saying I looked good and that these robes would be perfect for a warm day.”

Suddenly very self-aware, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Listen, Malfoy. I will not put up with any shit from an arsehole like you!” She growled.

“ Language, Granger,” he chuckled softly. “Who thought Gryffindor’s perfect golden princess spoke such crude words?”

Hermione glared at him as looked at her, an amused twinkle playing in his steely eyes. She swiftly turned away and stormed out of the Great Hall.

* * *

“Now, I want you all to practice Vanishing spells,” said Hermione conjuring a ferret on the desk of each student. “They should be nearly perfect by now, if not mastered.” She stood in front of the Slytherin 7th years, her last class of the day, carefully observing them, analyzing their skills, and judging their competences, correcting them once in a while.

“Miss Merrin, flick your wand a bit more at the end of your movement…yes, that’s better….Mister Crane, it’s E-va-nes-co, not Evanesc-oo. Well, most of you seem to have understood the basic notions quite well, although I advise you all to practice, especially you Mister Poults and you Mister Silverthorn,” she said after fifteen minutes.

“Onto Conjuring spells, quills out, please! Conjuration is one of the most advanced types of Transfiguration, only surpassed in difficulty by Human Transfiguration which we will also study this year later on. This is some of the most complex magic you will learn here at Hogwarts, so pay attention. Conjurations are distinguished from other branches of Transfiguration by their ability to transfigure or make objects appear from so-called, “thin air”. You have already learned certain Conjuring spells such as the Fire-making spell,” a trembling, gold, and ruby flame appeared in her palm. “Or the Water-making spell,” a thin stream of crystalline water spout out of her index finger. Satisfied, she watched as astonished expressions appeared on her students’ faces at her display of perfect wand-less and non-verbal magic. “I believe you also learned the Bird-conjuring spell last year,” she added as a flock of bluebirds soared above their heads. “Of course, there are limits to what can be conjured, the Five Exceptions to Gamp’s Elemental Law apply to Conjuration as much as to any other type of transfiguration. Another important thing to be taken into account while practicing Conjuration is its dangers. A conjured animal could for instance sport extra limbs, or have too few of them, or be a hybrid. While we will be studying advanced conjuring spells such as Ebublio which could be used for dueling, other spells such as the Fire-fiend curse are considered Dark Magic and are therefore forbidden.”

Hermione continued her lecture, demonstrating different types of Conjurations and explaining their uses and incantations. As the class was ending and everyone stood up, ready to leave, she cleared her throat stopping all the students:

“I want a three to four parchment essay on the principles of Conjuration for Wednesday. This should cause you no trouble if you listened carefully during today’s class, if not the library is always available. Have a good day.”

When the last student left the classroom, she sat down in her chair and finally relaxed.

“It wasn’t so bad, I think I did pretty well,” she thought.

Suddenly a knock sounded at the door and a short, red-haired Ravenclaw girl entered.

“Miss Rosethorn, what can I do for you?”

“Professor McGonagall sent me to ask you to come to see her, along with Professor Potter and Professor Malfoy. Professor Malfoy is still teaching, so she said you should wait for him.”

“Thank you, take five points for Ravenclaw for service to the school staff,” she answered while the only thing on her mind now was:

“Fuck, not him again."

**Author's note: I'm sorry for not updating this recently, school just started and I have exams this year so I really have to study. I promise to do my best and update this as soon as possible, maybe tomorrow. Also been feeling kinda tired and annoyed lately, so not really up for writing. Anyways, I'm done rambling, hope you liked the chapter ! Also, if you read this, I can't stress this enough, review, I'd like to know if people are actually (nervously sighs) reading the story.**

**B-bye! Daya**


	5. Chapter 4: Potions

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling and her team and I don't own anything *sighs***

Chapter 4: Potions

Draco was pacing around the room, inspecting his student’s potions while they worked, when the door burst open and Granger walked in. Well aware that he was being observed by the whole class, he turned to her and drawling out her name just to spite her, courteously asked:

“Hermione, to what do we owe the honor of your presence?”

“Do not call me Hermione,” she whispered harshly, ignoring his question and walking up to his desk. He arched an eyebrow, amused. She scrutinized the classroom, observing the mother-pearl-sheen of the bubbling potions and mist spirals.

"Amortentia," she said simply.

Nearing an attractive, 7th-year girl, she reprimanded her:

“If you had been paying attention to the instructions instead of drooling over Professor Malfoy, perhaps you would have remembered to put the powdered moonstone before the rose thorns.”

Draco held back a chuckle as he watched her glare at the Gryffindor girl who stared lovingly at him. But when she put her arms around a tall handsome guy, gripping his hand and correcting his stirring angle, he felt a twitch of annoyance and finally stepped in.

“Granger,” he said in a soft but dangerously low voice. “I believe I am the teacher and are therefore the one who should be correcting my students if I deem it necessary.”

“You aren’t helping them, so I decided to do so,” she shot back.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“Besides,” she continued. “Why did you give them such a complex potion on the first day? They are obviously not ready for such a hard potion.” She paused. “Is it because they are Gryffindors? Are you looking for a reason to knock off points?” She accused looking pointedly at him.

“Goodness, no, Granger! I might be a Slytherin and not have a particular soft spot for your house, but I’m no idiot either. Do you think McGonagall would appreciate it? I am, after all a professor. And to answer your question, I thought it insightful to test them, just like Snape did with us.”

They remained wordless as the students continued to work and minutes ticked by. Granger ended up breaking the silence.

“Smells quite nice, doesn’t it?”

He grunted.

“Hmph,” she scoffed. “It probably reeks of sex, money, and alcohol to you.”

“It does not. As a matter of fact, it smells like wet grass after a summer drizzle, brooms, old books, apples, lavender, cinnamon, and lemons,” he listed.

Once again, silence.

“What does it smell like to you?” He asked, surprising himself with the question.

Slightly startled by the sudden interest, she finally replied after taking a few seconds to think:

“It smells like new parchment, coffee, roses, cherry trees, oranges, pine, spearmint, and…ahem…cologne.” She finished lamely.

“Weasley,” he stated.

She blushed intensely and turned away. Snapping out of the bizarre moment they had just shared, he changed the subject.

“Why did you come here anyway?”

“McGonagall wants to see you, Harry, and me,” she said, still not facing him.

“Any idea why?”

She shook her head.

Soon, class neared to its end, and Draco inspected the potions again. As he neared McGallen, he noticed the idiotic look on his face. Directing his gaze at what he was obviously staring at, he felt an unusual anger rise in him.

“Mister McGallen, I do not think Professor Granger appreciates you staring so unabashedly at her breasts,” he said in a cold, deadly voice while Granger flushed a deep scarlet. “Fifteen points from Gryffindor for improper behavior in class and lack of respect towards a lady. Class dismissed.”

“Come on,” he said when everyone left. “Let’s go see what McGonagall wants from us.” He was already out of the door, when Granger stopped him, saying in a shy voice:

“Malfoy! I…thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Granger’s plump pink lips stretched into a small smile.

Maybe, just maybe, they would be able to stand each other.

* * *

They walked to McGonagall’s office in silence, but Draco felt her tense next to him, uncomfortable. He was aware of her strangely quick heartbeat and her shallow breathing, due to his heightened senses. His parents had made him drink a dragon blood-based potion since the day he was born, known to enhance intelligence, physical appearance, and strength. Although he was a Malfoy, so all of that was already there as a natural birthright.

He grinned smugly for himself.

Soon enough, they neared the Gargoyle protecting the Headmistress’ office. Potter was already waiting for them.

“Hermione…Malfoy,” he nodded curtly at him. “Do you have the password?”

“No, I suppose since Professor McGonagall invited us, we will be let through in due time.” Just as Granger said those words, the Gargoyle slid to the side and revealing a spiral staircase leading to the Headmistress’ office. They quietly ascended the stairs, stepping into a large, circular room. The office still looked similar to what Draco remembered it to be, with a large desk standing in the middle of the room, tall bookcases lining the walls and various magical trinkets. The former Headmasters and Headmistresses sat in their golden frames, watching them curiously. He spotted Professor Dumbledore with his long, silvery beard and half-moon spectacles, as well as Professor Snape with his stern, scowling face, although he could have sworn he saw him smile slightly at him. The newest addition to the room was a small wall behind the desk, on which hung various portraits of fallen War Heroes. He recognized a few: one of the Weasley twins, he still couldn’t tell which was which, Professor Lupin, Professor Moody, his cousin Nymphadora, that escaped Azkaban prisoner, Black, the Hufflepuff who participated in the Triwizard Tournament, along with several more. He turned his attention to McGonagall, who at last spoke:

“I asked you three to meet me as you are our newest and youngest additions to the staff, and I wanted to see how you were faring.”

“Oh, it is absolutely wonderful!” Gushed Granger. “It is great to be back, and such an honor to be teaching. The students have been nothing but kind and welcoming, and I’ve had no trouble with them.”

Draco rolled his eyes at that.

“How ironic,” he thought.

He zoned out of the conversation, remembering McGallen’s behavior. He shuddered with disgust.

“What about you, Mister Malfoy?” Asked McGonagall bringing him back to the present. “You have been awfully quiet.”

“Do not worry, Minerva. Everything is perfect.” He answered shortly. They conversed for a little longer, although Draco did not quite remember what had been said. When he finally turned around to leave, pretexting some urgent matter to attend to, he felt an intense stare drilling into his neck. And he was willing to bet a couple of hundred galleons that it came from Granger’s chocolate eyes.

**Author's note: Well, well, look who kept their promise and updated! Yay! As usual, hope you liked it, I'll do my best to post the next one tomorrow. Have I mentioned I love doing aesthetics for each chapter? You can find them on my instagram @hogwartssslove**   
**Even though we're still FAR away from the romance really starting, I really enjoy writing little things hinting at it. Also PLEASE REVIEW, I'm getting kinda discouraged by the fact that not many people seem to read/enjoy it.**

**B-bye! Daya**


	6. Chapter 5: Lake

**Disclaimer: As always, only own the plot and everything that you recognise from Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling**

Chapter 5: Lake

The next few days were uneventful, as Hermione slowly settled into her new life. She enjoyed teaching and seeing the wonder on her young students' faces when she performed a particularly difficult or flamboyant spell. It was also quite a strange but nice feeling, being able to chat casually with her former professor, or giving out homework instead of doing it herself. She spent her evenings in the Restricted Section of the library, which she found to be calmer, in between old leather-bound books, correcting essays, and preparing her lessons.

That weekend, Harry had left the school and had gone to watch Ginny's Quidditch game, so she was alone. She left the library and dropping her stuff off in her room, she made her way to the entrance of the castle. Pushing open the large doors she felt a chilly breeze on her face, cutting through the warm air. She continued walking through the Hogwarts Grounds until she reached the Black Lake. The clear, starry night sky and the majestic castle were reflected on its surface. Following the lakeshore, she reached a small thicket of weeping willows. The leaves around her rustled and the night birds chirped from time to time. Finally, she arrived at a mini-lake. It was her secret spot, a small, clear lagoon hidden by the willows and lined with tall rocks, creating a hidden pool. The water was see-through, of a dark shade. Fireflies cast their golden glow on the calm waves, resembling fairy dust. It was...magical.

Hermione had discovered this place a while ago, back in 5th year. She had since then begun to visit it regularly, often bathing or just enjoying the solitude. Here she felt calm, safe. Slowly undressing, she enjoyed the light wind blowing her hair out of her face and making her shiver deliciously as it came into contact with her bare skin. With careful steps, she approached the slim strip of sand and penetrated the lagoon. She sank further and further into the water until it reached her neck. Then, taking a deep breath, she plunged. The water rushed around her, swirling, entangling her body. It filled her ears, and for the first time in months, Hermione felt truly at peace, isolated from the real world.

"Just me, myself and I," she thought. "How wonderful..."

When she couldn't hold her breath any longer, she came back to the surface, gasping for air. Her wet hair rested sleek against her neck and back as she stood there, aware of every single cell of her body, of her feet anchored to the sand, of her quiet but steady heartbeat. Her wet skin glowed in the silvery light of the moon, the leaves and flowers surrounding the shore glittered like precious gemstones, the water was of a breathtakingly beautiful midnight-blue and a cloud of tiny golden fireflies surrounded her. Delighted, she couldn't help but let out a melodious giggle. She was happy.

Suddenly, an uncanny feeling burst her enchanted bubble of joy. Hermione felt strange, almost...observed Turning around and sinking deeper into the water to hide her naked form, she scanned the shore. At first, she could not see anything between the trees, but after a few minutes, she realized that the weird shape she had taken for a bizarre plant seemed to be a person. They were hiding between the shadows, carefully avoiding the direct moonlight beams.

"Who's there?" She called out.

No answer.

But, she noticed a small ripple in the air, and when she focused again, searching for the figure, it was nowhere to be found.

"They won't fool me, with a Disillusionment charm," she thought.

Conjuring a black swimsuit, she felt confident enough to quickly get out of the lagoon. The unknown figure started to run as she chased them, only distinguishable by the disturbance they caused in the air when they moved. Determined to find out who it was, she followed them. Her feet hit the ground in powerful strides, small stones, and spiky leaves digging into her heels. Sprinting through the trees lining the Black Lake, she realized that she would have a better chance at uncovering the mystery person's identity if she lulled them into a false sense of security and leading them to reveal themselves. Panting, she stopped and hid behind a large oak tree facing the castle. She held her breath, listening and carefully peaking around the tree trunk, but all she could see was a dark, cloaked figure, rapidly walking up the grounds. The moon came out from behind the clouds, casting its pearlescent white light on everything, including her stalker. During a brisk stride of his, his hood fell off and something silvery, almost platinum-like flashed in the night. But, that might have just been her imagination, tricking appearances.

**Author's note: I'm so happy I managed to update this today as promised, next chapter should be up by Tuesday or Wednesday. The stalker's identity is quite obvious isn't it? I'm honestly really excited about the next chapter. I'd just like to add that the description of Hermione's secret lagoon was slightly inspired by the setting described in a Dramione fanfic called "What The Room Requires" by Alydia Rackham which I loved (you can find it on fanfiction.net). Anyways, read and review (PLEASE)!**

**B-bye! Daya**

**EDIT: I just realized my chapters are quite short (sorry!), I might make them longer further along in the story I don't know yet. But I'll definitely make it up by writing a nice long story**


	7. Chapter 6: Thoughts

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SOME ALLUSIONS TO SELF-HARM AND AN ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED**

**Disclaimer: don't own anything as always**

Chapter 6: Thoughts

Draco paced around his room restlessly. He had a gorgeous, suite on the 7th floor, near the Astronomy Tower. It was one big room, with a fireplace and black leather couches on one side, and a king-sized mahogany bed with green covers on the other side. The room’s color palette was quite dark, composed mainly of silvery grays, deep blues, earthy greens, woody browns, and black. Books and various random things were strewn everywhere and his only devotion was a Slytherin banner, as well as three pictures on his desk. One of them was a refined portrait of his mother, Narcissa Malfoy. The other two were wizard moving photographs, one of him and his fellow Slytherins: Zabini, Nott, Parkinson, and a few members of the Slytherin Quidditch team. The second photo was an artistic photography portrait of Blaise Zabini. He looked charming and oddly…brooding. There was no other way to describe it, with his glowing dark skin and piercing somber eyes, it was mesmerizing.

But Draco wasn’t aware of anything anymore, as he lost himself in his thoughts, muttering under his breath.

Why was she there?

How did she find his secret lagoon?

How long has she known?

He had always been fairly sure he was the only one who knew of the small pool’s existence, he had never seen anyone there or shared his discovery.

Until now.

“How much does she know?” He wondered, remembering his 6th year.

“How much has she seen?”

* * *

He ran, barefoot, dressed in a wrinkled dress shirt and black trousers, through the snowy grounds. His feet pounded the ground, the snow crystals digging into his bare heels. He was running faster than ever before, trying to escape, running through the weeping willows, whose leaves tangled in his hair and limbs, running and not stopping until he reached his lagoon, where he plunged, still fully clothed. The icy water drowned him, rushing around his body, pushing him down, pulling him deeper and deeper, weighed down by his wet clothes.

He did not resist.

The water filled his lungs.

His heartbeat slowed.

His breathing died down.

He was sinking into unconsciousness.

A sudden realization washed over him, and with unknown strength, he proposed himself upward, out of the water.

Gasping for air, he breathed heavily.

Panicked.

He had almost drowned.

He had almost committed suicide.

He had tried to kill himself.

Anxiety, fear, and horror at his unknowing actions overcame him.

He broke down.

Hysteric.

His broad shoulders heaved, wracked by uncontrollable sobs.

It was agony.

The stress because of his task.

The worry and fear for his parents, especially his mother’s life, the only person who truly knew him and loved him.

The pain and torture that his atrocious acts caused him.

The loneliness.

Because yes, he was completely alone.

There was no one to turn to.

No one to confide in.

No one to comfort him.

No one who could help him.

No one to love.

Just pure loneliness, riddled with terror and sadness.

His sore throat let out raspy, hoarse sounds, tears ran down his cheeks, burning his cold skin, the frigidness filling his body, penetrating through every pore. He looked down and stared at his pale reflection in the dark water. A heart-wrenching scream tore out of him, echoing in the night. He was horrified by what he had seen: his wet, blonde hair of an ashy color, all tangled and disheveled, his bloodshot, tear-stained eyes, his starkly pale face with sunken cheeks and his once luscious lips, now dry and cracked, were set into a thin, grim line. His soaked shirt clung to his extremely thin frame, revealing the protruding bones and enormous amount of weight he had lost. His arms, torso, and legs were covered in thin, white scars, proof of the torture he had been inflicting upon himself.

He looked ill.

Tortured.

Almost dead.

And it scared him.

All the Malfoy greatness and smugness had disappeared.

There was nothing left, but a broken boy, whose mind, heart, and soul were shattered into millions of fragments.

Draco Malfoy was terrified of himself.

* * *

“I don’t think she saw that at least I hope so. If she had, he probably would have noticed some kind of pity or something similar,” said Draco out loud for himself, trying to clear his thoughts. “Typical Gryffindor.”

And yet, she had noticed his presence yesterday night. He wasn’t sure if she had successfully identified him, but he was certain she suspected him. Because while Granger was an annoying, stuck-up, bookworm, and perfect golden Muggleborn, he could not deny her intelligence. He would never admit it, but deep down, he knew she rivaled with him.

And she had become bloody attractive too.

He hadn’t expected to see her, and he certainly did not intentionally follow her. But when he found her there, and he hadn’t been able to control his curiosity. Granger had looked…gorgeous. With her long wet hair, sparkling honey-brown eyes, and the iridescent tone of her skin under the moonlight, he had seen her in a new light. The water covered her naked body, but he could still discern her slender but curvy figure, as well as her shapely chest. And the giggles. The pure happiness that had irradiated from her was contagious.

“Fucking hell,” he thought. He couldn’t believe he was her pacing his room, worried because of Granger. Yes, he admitted he found her quite pleasant to look at and she certainly wasn’t lagging in terms of brains, but still, it was Hermione Granger. Bloody perfect know-it-all, a war-heroine and a Mudblood. Draco chastised himself disgusted. He needed to get out of here. Tossing on some loose black trousers and a jumper, he left his room, an idea sparking in his tortuous mind.

**Author's note: So, I wanted to update yesterday but I got kinda caught up with other stuff, sorry! This story will not be a sappy fiction, and neither will they have immediate feelings for each other. Although both Draco and Hermione have been mostly civil to each other and have even noticed certain things, it is just because they are teachers and mature adults. There will be no easy romance. In terms of chapters I do not know how long this will be, I have a couple chapters planned out already and I know how this will end, but I'm still missing part of my intrigue, so updates will probably slow down after the already planned chapters. In terms of other writing, I have a couple one-shots in mind which I'll probably post soon. Anyways, that's about it, if you have any questions feel free to leave ask them and if not, hope you liked it and please review (it would mean the world to me, to know that someone is reading this and enjoying it <3).**

**B-bye! Daya**

**PS: J.K. Rowling's latest transphobic scandals are truly a shame, Harry Potter has always been my favourite series and it is really sad to see its author be so disrespectful and horrible to the transgender community.**


	8. Chapter 7: Bathroom

**Disclaimer: Everything (sadly) belong to JKR**

Chapter 7: Bathroom

His sinuous strides took him to the 5th floor, leading him to a simple, dark wooden door, near the statue of Boris the Bewildered. The only ornament was a jewel sitting tightly on the golden doorknob. Its facets shone green, blue, red, and yellow, reflecting in the moonlight. The Prefect's Bathroom.

"Lemon spearmint," he muttered. Draco was annoyed. He much preferred swimming in the lagoon, feeling the fresh night air on his skin when he emerged from the water and the golden light of the fireflies reflecting off of the shimmering silver leaves of the weeping willows. But no, the Mudblood had robbed him of another thing. Again.

He might not show it, as he still had a certain sense of decency as a professor, but the young Transfiguration teacher annoyed the fucking shit out of him. The intense hate he had for her, which had been buried deep inside him over the years, was bubbling anew and threatening to break out to the surface. Luckily he had grown accustomed to concealing his emotions and keeping up a cold, indifferent facade. He suddenly felt very frustrated and angry, but strangely also...lonely. These constant mood swings were becoming a serious nuisance over the past few months and a cause for worry. He was exhausted, mentally, and emotionally. His...family and business were taking a toll on him. With a heavy flick of his wand, he conjured a bottle of Ogden's Gold Firewhisky. The expensive bejeweled flask rested heavily in his hand as he finally crossed the door's threshold.

The first thing he noticed were two sets of black student robes.

"Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," he noted observing the neatly stitched house crests. Heavy breathing could be heard coming from the adjourning pool room.

"20 points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for being out of bed at this hour," said Draco steelily, appearing in front of the two miscreants. The two almost bare forms sprung immediately apart.

"I do not recall either of you being a Prefect Aves or you, Fourpetal, or being fifth years for that matter. 20 more points. And 10 more points each for improper behavior in front of a professor," he added after pausing for a second, a sly smirk apprising on his face.

"I do not think it would be considered appropriate from a teacher to be walking around with that," retaliated Aves still shabbily dressed, looking pointedly at the Firewhisky bottle.

"Mind your own business, Aves, if you don't want another 50 points taken from you," answered Draco icily. The Gryffindor looked as if he wanted to retaliate but the Hufflepuff girl put a calming hand on his shoulder and they turned away, fleeing the bathroom.

Draco sighed.

Everything felt terrible and put of place. He didn't know what was wrong with him. This night, everything was just, too much, too loud, too bright and he did not want to deal with any of it. He had an inkling as to why this could be, as it hat started with the letter. He growled, frustrated. A strong headache was settling behind his eyes. His mind was a jumble of contradicting and confusing emotions and thoughts. Popping the bottle's cap open, he took a deep swig of Firewhisky, choking slightly on it. The burning liquid slid down his throat into the deep pits of his stomach. Soon enough, light-headedness clouded his senses.

Stripping naked, he plunged into the turquoise pool. He swam deep under the water, his chest grazing the bottom as his arms and legs moved in powerful strokes. Breaking out to the surface of the water, he sank against the stone edges, rejoicing the quiet loneliness and resenting it at the same time. He stayed there for a few minutes, eyes closed, feeling. The ripples he had created lapped gently against his body, the warm magical water with an icy bite stung his skin and the hard edges dug into his shoulders, while his back rested against the smooth walls of the pool. Draco concentrated on his breathing: deep breath in and then out.

In and out.

In and out.

Again and again.

The only other source of noise was a soft, but steady drip of water droplets somewhere in the bathroom.

Drip, drip, drip.

In a few swift strokes, he reached the opposite side of the pool, where the golden jewel-encrusted taps were arranged into neat rows. He twisted a couple of them, and diverse essential oils and soaps shot out in thin thin streams into the water. Soon enough, the whole room smelled of fresh pine and spearmint, with a hint of lemon and a musky, earthy, wood scent. It reminded him of the dark green forests of the nordic lands he had visited during his... missions. Clouds of thick, silvery, white foam floated on the pool's surface. Bubbles floated slowly into the air, eventually bursting into a shimmery mist with a loud pop. He chugged more alcohol, and sank deep into the water once again, trying to relax. The water covered his head, white noise settling in his ears.

Calm.

It was far from the peace he experienced in the lagoon, but it was still a sliver of such tranquility. He was so enthralled in it and lost in his mind, that he didn't notice the foreign presence until the unknown visitor jumped into the pool right next to him. Startled, he quickly swam up. A shapely, long-legged, female figure sliced through the water. She resurfaced at the other side of the pool. Whoever she was, she hadn't noticed him yet. A mass of unruly, wet, brown curls hung down her back. No one but Granger had such ghastly hair. She still had her back turned to him, unaware of Draco's presence, resting her forearms against the white stone edges of the pool. White foam bubbled around her, the pine aroma having heavily in the air. He silently slid through the water, nearing her. He did not exactly know what he was doing, nor did he know why, but the playful and mischievous dragon had risen inside of him. He temporarily laid the mess that was his head to the rest and concentrated solely on Granger. He was less than a meter away from her when she grew conscious of his presence. She whirled around, frightened, and lashed out. Her fist collided with abdominal muscled, her knuckles cracking upon impact. She moaned in pain, looking up directly into his cold, grey eyes and glaring at him. While he still towered over her, Granger was no short person. She stood tall in front of him, dressed in what appeared to be a dark green one-piece swimming suit, proud in the dim light of the bathroom. Her bird's nest of a hair clung to her neck and shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face with raging coffee-colored eyes. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it without a single sound escaping from her lips. She was at loss for words. His mouth quirked into an amused sneer, a pale, challenging eyebrow raised. He had never seen her so flabbergasted and confused, he could practically hear the cogs whirring in her mind and her thoughts running frantically through it, quickly putting pieces together.

"You have taken up stalking as your new hobby, I see," she said cautiously.

"Correction. You have chosen so, I am quite certain I was already here before you came in and interrupted my rare and well-earned peace," he retorted.

Granger growled, outraged.

"And what about yesterday? You were watching me in the creek," she accused.

Draco turned away, slightly, a faint blush, luckily imperceptible in the darkness, tinting his cheeks. Images of Granger's naked silhouette in the moonlight flashed through his mind.

"I do not know what you're talking about," he answered coldly.

"Do not play fools with me, Malfoy. You were hiding in the willows, yesterday night, watching me bathe in the lagoon. I had to chase you! You invaded my privacy! You had no right to do so!" She nearly shouted.

"Calm down, Granger. I am afraid I still don't know what you mean."

"Of course you know! Do not tell me to calm down!" She raged on, stubborn. "You think this is some kind of game? It is not, Malfoy. That was my place."

Draco grew increasingly confused, realizing that the witch's eyes were glistening with unspilled tears.

"Granger...you're crying..." he said quietly.

'Shut up. SHUT UP! It was my only safe place. And now, someone, you, ruined it, you perverted arse! She cried.

Her fists pummelled his chest, several times. Draco glanced down, astonished. It did not hurt, since her punches were rather weak and ill-aimed, but it was nonetheless surprising. Granger had never struck him as a particularly violent kind of girl, although there had been that time in 3rd year. Her shoulders started heaving, and small sobs resonated in the bathroom, interrupted only by a few by a slow drip of water. Tentatively, he placed his hand on her shoulder. It felt as if he had been burned with hot coals, as their skin came into contact. Granger hissed, roughly slapping his hand away.

"Stay. Away. From. Me...bastard," she seethed. A single tear dropped from her long lashes, disturbing the immobile surface of the pool's water. The young Transfiguration teacher gave him one last furious glance, before hauling herself up and out of the pool. The door slammed in her wake. Draco couldn't recall the last time he had been this perturbed. First, he found Granger in the lagoon, naked, then he met her again in the Prefect's Bathroom and she cried. Crying women were one of the few things which left him at a complete loss. The headache, which had faded under the influence of alcohol, was back.

"By Merlin's beard," he muttered, running his hand through his wet locks. As he went over it all again, an odd thought struck him. Granger had mentioned chasing him. But he had left as soon as she asked who was there and had headed to the Whomping Willow.

"When she got out in a hurry and I left, she chased someone else. Not me. I assumed she saw me, but she did not. She mistook the person she chased after for me. There had been a third person, that much was clear," Draco realized. "But who had it been?"

**Author's note: Ok, first of all, I am so sorry for not updating in so long. I have been extremely busy with classes and studying, and I had a bit of a writer's block to be completely honest. I did my best to make this a nice chapter, and I'm still not really happy with it. Good thing is, it's a bit longer than the usual. I don't really like how this story is going, and I have a great idea for another one. I might start it and update at the same time, or finish this one first I don't know yet. I have a couple chapters left that are really planned out, so afterwards I am probably going to focus on some one-shots I have planned. Anyways, hope you like this, I know it's a bit confusing but you'll soon understand why everything is happening the way it is. Please review!**

**b-bye, daya**


	9. Chapter 8: Cufflink

**Disclaimer: Still don't own anything but the plot**

Chapter 8: Cufflink 

Hogwarts' hallways were quiet on a sunny afternoon. Most students were out on the grounds, enjoying the last few warm days. Distant chatter and laughter could be heard through the open windows. Hermione's footsteps echoed on the cobblestones, in an unusually unruly manner. A raging war was going on in his head. She did not understand where this second sudden outburst in Malfoy's presence had come from. And it was embarrassing: the git had seen her cry for Merlin's sake! She couldn't seem to control her emotions in his presence, which was quite strange, seeing as she had mastered the art of compartmentalizing her feelings and thoughts. "Cold-hearted bitch, some called me," she recalled. War does things to you. Its remains were still raw in her memory. No one noticed, but it had changed her. Permanently. She had closed in. Imperceptibly, as most were too busy celebrating or being relieved to see the end of the hell they had lived through. Too busy to notice the remnants of it all. Many had died, people close to Harry, Ron, and her. It had wrecked her long-lost best friend, the constant fear, the unknown. The horrors were indescribable. Losing Fred to Dolohov, and then George to suicide had finally thrown him off the cliff he had escaped for so long. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes ceased to exist. Ron left her life with it. Hermione's often wondered how the rest of the Weasley family had moved on and found some semblance of happiness again. Harry was just too relieved and tired to care anymore. He had survived so much pain and loss over the years, he just chose to forget. And he had Ginny. As for Hermione, it had been a whole other story. Her parents were as good as dead to her. They had left her life, forever. She had been forced to chase them away from it. Sometimes she wished she were not a witch. That she would have a normal, happy world. Because in this one, there was practically nothing left. She had learned to build a facade for everyone else and had lost herself in the process. It was the only way to keep going when being responsible for her real family's "death". Rare was the day she truly lived. Teaching was one of the few things she enjoyed, along with reading, gardening, baking sweets, and chocolate. Which was why these sudden true emotions were a dilemma for her. It was not for nothing that she now excelled at Occlumency, with her real self buried deep within her mind, made up of filing cabinets, carefully covered with a layer of false happiness. She couldn't remember the last time she had truly been herself, the last time she had felt okay. Which brought her back to this new situation with Malfoy. She loathed him and his family for everything they had done, all the grief they were responsible for. And yet she could not stop thinking about him and his gorgeous physique. Every tiny detail was anchored into her mind. She hated it. It felt wrong, unnatural, unlike herself. But then again, she did not know who she was anymore. Hermione Jean Granger had died when her parents vanished from her life. And it was what made the fact that she had never been surer of the reality of her feelings she had displayed in front of Malfoy worse. She suddenly grew conscious of searing pain in her palms. Unclenching her fists she had unwittingly closed, she observes her hands. Deep crescent-shaped marks with a violet tinge indicating bruising were engraved in the lower part of her palms. Her skin was red and swollen, small bits of it peeling off. There would be angry red scars later, while they healed. A single drop of blood pearled at the edge of one of the cuts. Hermione stared, fascinated, as the crimson liquid ran down her wrist and tainted her white shirt's cuffs scarlet. The red stain grew bigger, right next to her golden cuff link. "Gryffindor", she murmured.

_It is well that war is so terrible. Otherwise, we should grow too fond of it._

She kept on walking.

**Author's note: To make up for the long wait, I decided to upload this short chapter. It is a bit of a filler and is not that relevant to the plot, but it offers an insight into the feelings of my version of Hermione. I'll do my best to upload the next chapter as soon as possible. As usual, I hope you like it and please review ;-) b-bye, Daya**


	10. Chapter 9: Relieving

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR except the plot

A/N: I'm so sorry for not updating for so long, I was extremely busy. Also, I got a beta, SnakePrincess101, she is awesome! Check her stories out, they're great :)

Chapter 9: Reliving

The music seeped through the headphones into her body as she kept on walking. She had discovered a way to trick the old castle's anti-muggle wards during one of her many sleepless nights. It had been 6th year. The calm before the storm, as some say. Right before the two-year ordeal she, they, had survived. The charm allowed her to use common muggle devices such as a phone inside of Hogwarts. She was now able to listen to Muggle music, something she had dearly missed. The privacy the melodies offered, creating a bubble only for her, away from everything and everyone else. It was a whole other type of magic.

Over the years, she had learned to cherish her loneliness. Just another way to cope with the hole that had appeared in her life because of everything that had vanished from it, gone amok.

I stay up all night

Tell myself I'm alright

Baby you're just harder, to see than most.

I put the record on

Wait till I hear our song

Every night I'm dancing with your ghost.

The final note rang just as she passed the Grand Staircase with its many moving portraits.

"Hermione, dear!"

She stopped, taking an earbud off, searching for the source of the noise. The Headmistress stood on one of the moving staircases above her.

"Professor!" She called out.

"Hermione," repeated the old witch quickly. "The Minister is visiting tonight and we are for—, ahem, holding a formal dance. I apologize for the rush. I was only just notified of their coming. Luckily for us, all students will be in their Common Rooms by those hours. Honestly, to impose one's presence on others so suddenly, and in such a fashion, how rude," she scoffed.

While Minerva McGonagall was a woman of few words and emotions, the dislike she had specifically reserved for Kingsley, did not pass unnoticed by Hermione. She believed the witch, who loved all her students dearly, held a personal grudge against the Minister for his rather unconventional manners and habits which had impacted his leadership throughout the war.

"I believe Ginevra is due to arrive quite soon. She will fill you in on the precise details."

With a groan of marble, the staircase changed positions, McGonagall's tartan green robes disappearing out of the younger witch's sight. She sighed heavily. She did not have the slightest interest in attending such a formal event, nor did she have any desire to pamper herself. "Dandelions" by Ruth B. started playing. Deeming it too joyous, she scrolled to the next song.

Well you look like yourself

But you're somebody else

Only it ain't on the surface

Well you talk like yourself

No, I hear someone else though

Now you're making me nervous

She started humming, as she carried on wandering the hallways of the old castle.

"Ginny is probably the person who knows me best to this day, at least the person I am now," she reflected. Hermione liked to believe she and Harry were still the same people, the same best friends who had met all those years ago, who understood each other like no one else could. But deep down, she had accepted the hard truth: that was no longer the case. They had slowly drifted apart, gone their separate ways, time and distance chipping away at their connection. She was well aware of it, as nothing escaped the "Brightest witch of our age". Yet she refused to acknowledge it, while Harry was quite oblivious to it all.

Of course, there was him. The single person in her life who had known every tiny facet of her personality, of her existence, of who Hermione Jean Granger truly was. The one who, in a matter of minutes, had wrecked his way into her heart, loving and supporting her unconditionally, when she was at her worst, at her weakest. As circumstances changed, they had first kept contact through two-way parchment. And then, one day, he stopped answering. He disappeared, rendering her world just a little grayer. Yet again.

The only other person who had known her well, was, strangely enough, Luna Lovegood. She had that way about her, seeing through everyone, reading them as if they were open books, noticing the smallest things when no one else did. But she was dead. Along with Seamus, Padma, and Lavender. Dean and Parvati had been inconsolable. And yet, the list of missing and fallen people just kept on getting longer and longer. Never-ending.

It was for this reason that she did not particularly rejoice in having to see Kingsley. She resented him for many of the choices he had made while leading the Order after Moody's and

Dumbledore's deaths. Not that the old fools had been any better, what had been blind admiration and devotion in her teenage years had turned into bitter disappointment and aversion at the realization of everything he could have done better. Much better. Some of the missions the former Auror had organized were borderline suicidal and quite useless. They ended up costing lives. Therefore, she intensely disliked him, to put it nicely. Even if he was the reason for her former position at the Ministry, which had allowed her to make significant changes in the laws regarding Muggleborns and magical creatures, particularly house-elves.

Sometimes Hermione truly loathed the Wizarding World. What had been the fairytale dream of every child, full of wonder and light, had quickly turned into a desperate and pointless escape from a nightmare, saturated with blood, sweat, tears, and ink-black darkness, from which your inner monsters came out. It was terrifying, to see people you knew, people you cared about, people you loved grieving for fallen ones, just to die right after them. Falling one after the other, like dead flies, over and over again, erased from the surface of the Earth. The same old song, each got their turn. Endlessly. Every day you survived came with a heavy truth you carried around for the rest of your life: the knowledge that every time you remained alive, someone else died for and because of you. War was no political game or power struggle, it was a constant fight, where only the strongest, quickest, and smartest lived to tell the tale. Whether it'd be Muggle or Magical, it was a game of survival, every time you killed your opponent, you remained alive. War was suffering, soldiers fought for a cause which became purposeless and unknown to them, whilst the masterminds behind it all tugged at the game's strings, moved the pieces on the chessboard, without struggling themselves. War is a game of Life.

"Hermione!"

As soon as she entered the suite she shared with Harry, a pair of arms wound themselves tightly around her neck, and she found her face buried in fiery red locks. Immediately, she pushed down all the dark thoughts deep within herself, where it wouldn't peek through.

"I'm glad to see you too, Gin," she chuckled. It was a dry laugh, lacking energy, which thankfully went unnoticed by the redhead. "Where's Harry?" She added after pausing to scan the room in search of her messy-haired friend, her arms still draped over the youngest Weasley's shoulders.

"I don't know, I have not seen him since I arrived. I've been waiting for you in here all this time, I do have to say, you have quite an impressive amount of books here," she answered. Hermione waved it off:

"These aren't mine," She mumbled, a dreamy look appearing on her face at the thought of her extensive collection of rare novels and tomes safely stored in her room, protected by every possible ward. "Anyways, how come you're here and not training with your team or something?"

"Kingsley suggested I come along, as I am, and I quote, "a war heroine and captain of the Holyhead Harpies, the only all-female Quidditch team in Britain"," explained Ginny.

Ah, yes. The dinner party.

"All of Britain's most important witches and wizards will be attending tonight's event. As far as I've understood, it's in honor of Hogwarts' "11th-century standing" or something," she continued. "But I'm quite sure it's all just a pretext to celebrate Harry's new job, draw some attention to the Boy Who Lived again and whatnot. I honestly can't wish enough for the ability to just go shopping in Diagon Alley with my boyfriend without being stopped by a crowd of people wanting an autograph and girls lusting over him," she rolled her eyes.

"Gin!"

Dragging her up the stairs into Hermione's bedroom, the redhead excitedly started unpacking various sets of robes out of a small brown leather suitcase. Hermione, sighing, opened the doors of her wardrobe. Rummaging briefly, she pulled out her set of formal burgundy robes.

"You are not wearing that, are you?" Asked Ginny looking at the clothing as if it were cursed.

"Why not? What's wrong with them? They're perfectly normal robes, you helped me pick them out if I recall correctly," she retorted.

"But you already wore them at the Feast! You can't show up at a formal event in something you have already showcased! There will be photographers and journalists, Hermione!"

"Honestly, I couldn't care less. I don't even want to go to this dinner."

The redhead clicked her tongue disapprovingly:

"Luckily for you, I brought a few different dresses, because I could not decide which I liked best."

And yes, while Ginevra Weasley favored herself as a constantly fierce warrior, she had an adorable, undeniably girly side to her which would not allow her to miss an occasion to play dress up. After a few minutes of going through the "few" dresses, she proudly handed one over to Hermione. It was a sleek, long-sleeved, off-the-shoulder ball gown made out of dark, moss green silk with a matching organza over-skirt. Hermione gazed at the dress with thinly veiled uncertainty, bordering disgust:

"It's stunning, Ginny, but isn't it a bit too sumptuous and…Slytherin-ish?"

"Nonsense! I assure you, everyone will be dressed as luxuriously as possible, we are after all talking about the richest and most important wizards," she answered jovially while hanging up a fitted black velvet dress with a thigh-slit next to a creamy white sheath halter-neck gown with a small train. "Besides, I thought you were all for House unity. Trust me, you will look splendid in this color with those golden stilettos of yours and some matching jewelry."

"But there's no need for so much pomp," protested the brown-haired witch weakly, yet her friend was already unpacking countless makeup products and bijoux boxes.

Nearly two hours later, the two young women were finally making their way down the Grand Staircase, impeccably dressed in their respective white and green gowns, their hair cascading down their backs and their faces highlighted by subtle but glamorous touches of makeup. While Ginny was all smiles at the prospect of spending a fun night with Harry whom she rarely saw, Hermione's levels of excitement and joy for the evening ahead were drastically low. They reached the Entrance Hall and crossed the doors leading into the Great Hall.

The giant room was decorated with crystal baubles, garlands, and flower arrangements. Ministry officials, famous wizards and witches, and several high-society members were milling around, conversing, and drinking liqueur, fire-whiskey or oak-mead out of tall glasses, Some were dancing gracefully to the music. A few 7th years were partaking and could be seen here and there. As Ginny had predicted, most were wearing fancy gowns and elegant suits, and a couple of people were dressed in formal dress-robes.

But what caught Hermione's attention was Draco Malfoy, who while looking particularly charming in a black suit and white silk shirt, stood next to the buffet with a permanent scowl and brooding expression etched on his face. A petite, voluptuous, dark-haired witch wearing an impossibly tight powder blue mermaid dress, and rows upon rows of white pearls, sipped a champagne flute next to him while observing the attendance with intrigue laced with a certain disdain, draped in her white fur shawl. A silver watch encircled her delicate wrist. Hermione recognized her to be one of the newest staff members, the Muggle Studies Professor, from Paris. She was initiating, what seemed to be, vain attempts at conversation with the Potions Professor, who looked as delighted in her presence as he was enchanted by the party: which is to say, he was not enjoying it. At all. Hermione hadn't had the occasion to speak with her, however she did not particularly want to either, as she had recently developed a strong animosity towards social gatherings and most people in general.

Further along, Kinglsey Shacklebolt stood out in bright purple robes in the midst of blue, red, white, gold, black, and silver that was the crowd. McGonagall, unmistakable in her ever-lasting emerald robes and pointed black hat, faced him, engrossed in deep discussion with the Minister and Heads of Magical Law Enforcement, International Magical Cooperation, and Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The rest of the Professors were scattered around the Great Hall and she could see Flitwick and Pomona waltzing rather awkwardly on the dance floor. Ginny was already gone when she turned around to comment on it, lost in the swaying silks in search of Harry. Sighing and taking care to construct a perfectly false, pleasant expression on her face with a bright, happy grin, Hermione approached Kingsley to greet him.

"Minister!" She exclaimed, nodding in acknowledgment. "How pleasant to see you here, tonight."

"Likewise, Hermione, likewise. I thought we had already established a first-name basis. Or shall I go back to calling you Miss Granger, as if you were a mere student?" He raised a playful eyebrow, a low rumble, supposedly a laugh, escaping his throat.

"Of course, Kinglsey," she chuckled. Her laugh sounded crystalline, and an internal shudder rushed through her body at the fake joyfulness of it.

She glanced at the Headmistress: her otherwise kind expression had become slightly ironic, the twitch of her lower-lip revealing the distaste she had for her company and the situation she found herself in.

Kingsley was mostly a nice person, smart and charismatic, somewhat of a gentle giant at times. But both Hermione and Minerva had witnessed his cold, ruthless, and calculatingly selfish side during the War. While a brilliant strategist and duellist, he did not hesitate to sacrifice lives, often unnecessarily, for the sake of moving forward.

While pretending to be listening intently to the conversation, she inadvertently started to zone out, memories flooding her mind.

*Ron lay unconscious on the forest canopy, as the blood oozing from the profound gashes in his shoulder and arm, revealing his bones, pooled around him*

*Angelina's and Fred's skin bubbled, turning sickly green from the curse gnawing at their organs as she desperately fought to apparatus them safely back to Grimmauld Place*

*Tortured and crazed shrieks spilled from Lavender's mouth as Fenrir Greyback viciously tore into her mangled flesh, over and over again.*

*Panic overcame her system at the sharp feel of the icy blade pressed against her already cold skin. Bellatrix's long, crooked, dirty nails dug into her throat, drawing droplets of scarlet blood that ran down her pallid skin. She couldn't breathe. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. All she felt was unprecedented fear and horror, blinding out everything else. She remained oblivious to the pain. For now.*

The considerate touch of wrinkled, bony fingers as they lightly and briefly wound themselves around her hand, brought her back to reality.

"Are you alright Miss Granger?" Asked one of the Ministry officials.

"Yes, I'm fine, just got lost in the music," She answered vaguely, throwing a grateful glance at Minerva. The elderly witch gave her a small, reassuring smile, a knowing, and understanding glint shining in her eyes.

"Are you quite sure? You do not look too well," Kingsley added. "I'm fine," she repeated with more conviction.

As the conversation went on, Hermione scanned the Hall for Ginny or Harry, needing an urgent break from this entourage. She could not find either of them, but just when she was about to head over to Neville, her gaze fell upon Malfoy and the new Professor again. The witch was standing suspiciously close to him, her perfectly manicured hand resting on his arm very intimately as she giggled like one of those teenage girls she had caught lusting over the blonde man the other day. A ferocious, savage, jealous beast rose in the pits of her stomach. An unusual wave of outrage washed over her, intensifying at the sight of the sweet smile Malfoy gave the young woman.

"Excuse me," said Hermione through clenched teeth. "I think I need a drink."

Author's note: I apologize again for not updating for so long (over a month I think, yikes!), I was extremely busy. The two songs mentioned here (Dancing with your ghost by Sasha Sloane and You're Somebody Else by Flora Cash) reference Hermione's feelings and past relationship with Ron. Even though Muggle technology seems quite unlikely in Hogwarts, music is something which translates emotions very well, which is why I decided to include it. I tried to describe a bit of the trauma of the war as well, so I hope that works out. Again, THANK YOU to SnakePrincess101 my wonderful beta, for getting this back to me so quickly. Hopefully, I'm able to finish the next chapter soon. I'm also considering working on some one-shots and maybe starting another story that I have in mind...

Please review!

b-bye, Daya


	11. Chapter 10: Spices

Disclaimer: I only own the plot everything else belongs to JKR

Chapter 10: Spices

Granger cradled her glass as she made her way across the Hall over to them, in a determined stride. Her dress' skirt swayed on her hips, her slender caramel shoulders revealed in the plethora of moss-colored silk. A golden choker encircled her throat, matching with the pendants dangling from her ears and the sleek metal waistband. Her heels clicked loudly on the cobblestone floor of the Great Hall. Draco could not deny it: she looked bloody gorgeous. Although his already-present scowl deepened at the sight of her, he was secretly glad for her presence. While Ethelyn Nightshade was certainly nice to look at, she was like any other high-rank pureblood: overly sweet, bland, and boring. He much preferred arguing pointlessly with Granger about some intellectual theme, then hearing about another shopping spree in Paris or a holiday on the Amalfi Coast.

"Ah, Draco!" Exclaimed Granger. "Fancy seeing you here, I was not expecting you to come out of that old smelly dungeon of yours."

She flashed him a Malfoy-worthy smirk.

"The bitch," whispered his inner voice.

"But then again, you are after all a so-called, ladies man," she added. "Might you be here to pick up your next victim?"

"Why, Hermione, I cannot say I'm any less surprised by your presence here," he shot back.

"What do you mean by that?" She asked, raising her eyebrows inquisitively.

"Well, you are always locked up in that musty library, surrounded by books. Hardly a social person, are you not? Always thinking you know better than anyone else, just because you read more than anyone else, unhealthily, dare I say so. Your, ahem, attire, is just as astonishing. Isn't it a bit too Slytherin for Gryffindor's golden princess?"

She humphed, blushing slightly and averting her eyes, just to object a few seconds later:

"I dress in what suits me best, Malfoy, and if I look fucking fantastic in green, which one would argue that I do tonight, then I might as well wear it. Besides," her voice lowered to an angry whisper. "I'd rather be seen as a Slytherin, than as a convicted Death Eater!"

"Low blow, even for you, Granger," he spat through gritted teeth. Her eyes widened, as if the meaning of her own words just dawned on her, refusing nonetheless to relent:

"Don't forget what you did…or rather did not do. Face it, you deserve this, Malfoy."

She was now standing uncomfortably close to him, her warm breath ghosting over his face. The citrusy and cinnamon fumes of her drink, which he guessed to be orange liqueur spiced up with fire whiskey, invaded his nostrils, flooding his senses as they glared intensely into each other's eyes. It was like watching churning brown quicksand, which exploded into a raging thunderstorm of raw hatred and defiance, which then abruptly softened. Granger's gaze was bold, daring, and challenging, but it also had a warm haze to it.

"Gryffindor princess indeed: you could take the girl out of Gryffindor, but you couldn't take the lion from the girl." echoed in his thoughts.

They stood like that for what seemed to be hours, even though it must have been mere seconds. She broke eye contact first, turning to the witch standing next to him, allowing a triumphant grin to spread across Draco's face.

"And, you are…?"

"Ethelyn Nightshade," obliged the witch gracefully.

"Of course. Silly me, how could I forget our new Muggle Studies Professor?" She laughed, glancing at her with thinly veiled contempt.

"But then again, I suppose everyone was distracted by Harry's presence, and I had such a delightful discussion with Kingsley. Oh dear, I seem to be very forgetful tonight, I have forgotten to introduce myself," she added holding out her hand. "Hermione Granger, war heroine."

Judging by Nightshade's wince, the brunette possessed a very firm grip.

"You have such an…uncommon name for a French witch," she observed.

"I'm not French per se, I was born in Paris and lived in France my whole life, but my parents were British. Sadly, they di—"

"Oh, how wonderful! I believe you are related to one of the families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Rosiers, right? How…interesting that you chose to teach Muggle Studies."

Granger's saccharine tone sounded somehow vicious and very snake-like as if laced with venom. She was acting quite strangely. If truth be told, he had never heard her speak like that to anyone, except maybe with Pansy. The intense dislike she harbored for the newcomer was very odd indeed. Draco found himself fighting back a smirk, Granger had never come across as a rude person, yet here she was, being true to her Gryffindor self.

"Well, you see, as I grew up in the middle of Muggle Paris before going to Beauxbatons, and my parents weren't opposed to Muggles or Muggleborns unlike many other purebloods, I have always lived in close contact with Muggle society."

All the precious childlike qualities of Nightshade's tone had mysteriously vanished from her voice, leaving only a barely perceptible and very attractive French accent. She now possessed all the confidence and mannerisms of a refined woman.

"Frankly, I find Muggles quite fascinating. Their ability to discover innovative solutions to their problems and their ways of facilitating their everyday life without magic astounds me. I have always immensely enjoyed learning, and when I came across this opportunity to share my acquired knowledge and interests with others as well as hopefully expand them, I could not let it pass. I consider it a must, to teach young witches and wizards about other cultures and habits, including and especially those of the Muggle society with which they cohabit. And—"

"Right," Interrupted the brunette witch again, a skeptical and unbelieving expression drawn on her face. "Oh and I'm very sorry for that exchange you just witnessed," she added bashfully as a second-thought, gratifying Draco with an evil side-eye. "As you can probably already tell, Professor Malfoy and I aren't exactly the dearest of friends."

"I suppose he is not the friendliest or most approachable gentleman, but he is quite charming in his way," answered the French witch earning a frown from Granger.

All the precious childlike tones had mysteriously vanished from her voice, leaving only a barely perceptible French accent. She now possessed the confidence and mannerisms of a refined woman.

"But do tell me a bit more about Hogwarts, Hermione, I hope you don't mind me calling you that."

The other Professor did seem to mind very much, but she still obliged:

"Well, Hogwarts was founded in 990 A.D. by the four founders: Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff. It is believed to be…"

"Looks like she did memorize the whole of "Hogwarts: A History" after all," thought Draco who suddenly found the swirling and glistening patterns on the delicate wings of the butterfly, which adorned Nightshade's silver watch mesmerizing.

*Pain shot through every nerve of his body as his aunt growled, displeased at his futile attempts to resist the Cruciatus curse. He fell to his knees, his muscles tensed, as he tried to stop the screams from escaping his lips.*

*"Visdevoro," he said his voice strong and cold, the slight temblor in it carefully concealed, unnoticeable. Black mist shot from his wand, engulfing the boy's body and cutting off his shrieks.*

*Granger's tortured howls were reduced to dwindling pained whimpers. Her whole body spasmed, starkly pale. Blood trickled down her wrist and fingers, staining the floor.*

"Malfoy, Malfoy!" Granger's voice pierced through the dark cloud that had settled over his mind. He looked up, adjusting his sight to the witch, focusing on her and realizing that she was in fact not on the floor, blood running down her wrist, but standing in front of him:

"Yes?"

"Miss Nightsh—"

"You can call me Ethelyn," interrupted the Professor. The other witch gave her a supposedly sweet smile, which looked everything but pleasant.

"Miss Nightshade here had a…request for you. I will leave you two to it," she finished, turning swiftly around on her heel, her drink swishing dangerously in her glass.

Draco could have sworn the Gryffindor witch inclined it lightly, when half of the cocktail tipped over the edge, splashing on Nightshade's gown, a dark stain appearing on it.

"I am so sorry! You must forgive me, I am such a clumsy and careless person at times," She gasped, a falsely concerned look appearing on her face. But if one looked closely enough, they could see glee shimmering in her eyes.

The Potions Professor couldn't help but scoff at that, there was nothing more untrue. Hermione Granger was probably the most meticulous and careful people he had ever met. She glared at him, and clearing her throat, added:

"I'm sure Malfoy won't mind helping you out, being the chivalrous gentleman he is. I'm off to get a new drink, have fun!"

He watched as she left him alone with the Muggle Studies Professor once more, the fabric of her dress swinging once again on those delicious hips of hers. Lazily taking out his wand, he casually pointed it to the splatter staining the powder blue silk of Nightshade's dress. It disappeared in mere seconds, as is siphoned off. He faced her, arching a pale questioning eyebrow. A faint blush tinted the witch's cheeks. She glanced ups, her previously gentle sky blue gaze now a sharp azure stare, her tone seductive, tempting, as she murmured:

"I was hoping you would like to dance with me, Draco."

"But of course, Ethelyn," he responded bowing slightly, taking her hand, and bringing it up to his lips, kissing her knuckles lightly, before offering her his arm which she gladly accepted. They joined the other couples on the dance floor, just as the orchestra started playing the first notes of the waltz. It was a soft, airy tune, which reminded him of the pale pink petals of the cherry tree flowers, as they fell on the cool grey cobblestones of the main alley of the gardens of Malfoy Manor. They danced through the air during spring, faint smudges of color fighting to bring some life to the bitter darkness of Malfoy Manor.

"Waltz of the roses, from The Nutcracker, by Tchaikovsky," he muttered to himself. While Draco felt disdain and disregard for most things Muggle, he prided himself in having extensive knowledge of literature, music, and art of every kind. On some of his countless sleepless nights, he would sit in front of the piano for hours…

The circular Music Hall on top of one of the towers of Malfoy Manor was decorated with Renaissance-style paintings in shades of blue and silver. The ceiling was made up of swirling space blue and violet lightning bolts. Silver stars shone behind the tall glass windows. Faint moonlight beams fell on his long pale fingers which ran across the pristine white keys of the piano. A half-eaten box of pralines and chocolate truffles sat on a small glass table next to him. He played effortlessly, composition after composition, without any partitions. Sad, haunting melodies spread out throughout the whole chamber in echoing waves, minute after minute. However, Draco remained ignorant about his surroundings, unaware, immersed deep in his thoughts.

…and during rainy evenings he would read for hours, curled up on the couch.

The rain clattered loudly against the windows, big droplets falling on the glass and racing each other as they glided across it. Inside of the living room of his apartment in Muggle London, Draco sat on the large brown leather couch, buried under a heap of cream and dark green blankets. Books lay strewn around him: some in messy and trembling piles at his feet, others carelessly left on the coffee table. These were detective novels and literature classics of every color and size, by notable authors such as Agatha Christie, Mary Higgins Clark, Victor Hugo, Émile Zola, Tolstoï, Pushkin, and others. A tray of buttery biscuits and a fine, porcelain tea can rested amidst countless pieces of parchment covered in an elegant, black ink handwriting. The shelves lining the walls of the room were decked with rare, priceless, signed first-edition copies of various books. A crackling log fire burned in the chimney, casting its warm glow on the Malfoy heir's alabaster skin and silky platinum hair. His clasped hands carefully held his all-time favorite book, "Ten Little Indians" by Agatha Christie. Having read it probably a few dozen times already, it never ceased to amaze and surprise him. Everything about the dark and eerie narrative compelled him. Turning the page, he sipped lightly at the black tea swishing in his cup. Still engrossed in the story, he reached for yet another biscuit.

A tingling sensation, like hundreds of little needles lightly pricking his skin on the nape of his neck, dragged him away from his thoughts. He continued waltzing with Nightshade, twirling her and lifting her, both light as feathers, graceful like swans gliding on the calm surface of a lake, troubling the water ever so slightly. As they spun around, he finally spotted the reason for the tingling. It was Granger, looking positively fuming as she glared at them. She stood nonchalantly, propped up against a window sill. Catching her eye, he winked flirtatiously, flashing her his charming, signature Malfoy smirk.

Her hand tightened around her glass.

He continued dancing with Nightshade, occasionally leaning in to whisper some random remark about Hogwarts or the present guests in her ear, while still maintaining eye contact with Granger. He noticed that she was now completely tense, her eyes flaring dangerously and her pretty pink lips pursed in discontentment. Draco registered that he must have observed her much more carefully than he had thought, to remember such details. He looked down at his partner, finding a pale heart-shaped face faintly dusted with pink. Shoulder-length raven-colored curls framed it, and her plump cupid's bow lips were perfectly outlined in blood red. Her azure eyes were shadowed by long black lashes. Everything about Ethelyn Nightshade was made to the entrance, entice and attract. Nonetheless, she did not appeal in the slightest way to the blonde, grey-eyed man. She was too much of a fragile doll to his tastes, everything too painted, perfect, and false. Nevertheless, there was nothing as amusing as taunting Granger a bit. As the music ended and Nightshade came closer to him again, he pulled her flush against his body, his hand tight on her waist, still while staring at Granger. Their faces were tilted towards each other, noses almost brushing. Her small hand rested on his shoulder, the other one gripping his tightly, their fingers interlaced. She was staring into his cold grey eyes, but his were still focused on the Gryffindor. He glanced down for a second, his gaze meeting Nightshade's.

A sharp sound of shattering glass resonated in the Great Hall.

Granger's fist had crushed the delicate champagne flute she was holding, and Draco could not help but jubilate as he made his way to her. He knew he knew Granger was jealous. And the knowledge of it delighted him, though he wasn't sure why that exactly was. When he finally reached her, the young Transfiguration Professor was already waiting for him, a deep scowl etched on her features. Remnants of her cocktail seeped into the folds of her dress, the air around them smelling of spices and oranges. Fragments of glass lay at her feet: pointing his wand at them, Draco vanished them.

"It was after all quite a beautiful dress, such a shame it is now ruined," he mused.

"I thought you did not approve of it," she countered dryly.

"Well, it did look rather dazzling on you, princess," he answered ironically, the left corner of his lip twitching into a slight smirk. "And quite expensive too…I wonder how you managed to pay for it."

"My financial situation is none of your business, Malfoy," She snarled, before ragingly siphoning off the liquid stains on the moss green silk of her skirt. Arms crossed, she silently continued glaring at him. When he reached for her hand to take care of the shards embedded in it, she slapped it away, and yanked them out herself, wincing slightly. Streams of blood started running down her skin, oozing out of the cuts.

"Merlin, Granger! You're making your wounds worse. And look," he added pointing at the hem of her skirt. "You stained your dress again."

Droplets of crimson blood had fallen on the floor, precisely seven of them, forming a flower. Once again, he vanished the blood off the floor and her dress. He reached for her hand once more, and this time she did not protest. He observed her palm, making sure there were no shards left. Her hand felt excruciatingly warm in his. Draco then proceeded to heal the cuts, which disappeared, leaving only faint pink blemishes. A single scarlet bead rolled down her index, soiling his white skin. The blood was starkly contrasted against his pale hand like a single red rose amidst thorns during a snowstorm. He wiped it away, before facing her one more time. The orchestra began playing a new piece.

"The Blue Danube, by Strauss," muttered Granger under her breath.

"She knows music," noted Draco, not surprised considering it was Granger, but secretly content. Holding out his hand, he asked:

"Will you grant me this dance?"

She started shaking her head, but taking no regard for her desires, he clasped her hand tightly in his and half-dragging her, leading the brunette to the dance floor.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" She sighed pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I just want to dance with my colleague. Last time I checked that wasn't illegal."

He smiled innocently, prying her hands gently apart, his eyes telling a whole other story of fire and hunger.

"Just this dance, that's all I ask from you," He murmured, staring straight into her sparkling, clever eyes.

"Fine," she huffed.

Gripping her by the waist, he pulled her closer to him. Only a flimsy piece of silk separated his fingertips from her bare skin, a skin he yearned to touch, craved the taste of. Granger's left hand rested on his shoulder, ablaze as if burning a hole through the silk of his shirt, just by its sheer warmth. He took her other hand and felt tiny electric discharges run through his whole body, just because of the mere brush of their fingertips. Draco picked up the pace, leading the dance. Her hand felt sizzlingly hot in his. His surroundings disappeared, all he saw was her, Granger, with golden brown curls and piercing, intelligent brown eyes. All he felt was hunger, lust, want. He did not know why that was. He hated her, she hated him. They had always loathed each other. But tonight, that hate had turned into something else: interest and desire.

"What do you want from me?" She asked suddenly. "You would never do anything without some twisted, dark reason behind your actions. We hate each other. You insulted and harassed me. I punched you. You are a pureblood and fought for the Dark side. I am a Muggleborn and fought for the Light. Why—"

"Shh, Granger," he stopped her. "Stop overthinking. I—"

"NO!" She shouted, frustrated, and stormed away.

Draco raised an eyebrow, surprised. Deciding against following her, he headed to the buffet and picked up a champagne flute and a whole platter of cream-cheese and salmon canapés. Scanning the room briefly, he spotted Granger at the same window as before. He sauntered over to her, and leaned against the wall, sipping his champagne.

"Want some?" He asked holding out the canapé platter to her. She took one, viciously biting into it. He popped another one into his mouth. The air between them was tense, not a single word uttered. The canapé platter was emptied in a matter of minutes, and Draco mentally kicked himself for having forgotten to take something sweet as well.

"You know, I understand that I'm handsome and charming and prone to make ladies jealous but there was no need to harm yourself to try and catch my attention," he said patronizingly, a hint of worry piercing through his words, not daring to mention her bizarre attitude. She did not deign to reply, choosing instead to scoff and glare at him, before sharply turning away. She stood stiffly, rigid while looking out the window, gazing at the already frosty tops of the Forbidden Forest's trees. He stepped closer until his body was millimeters away from hers. Leaning forward, he whispered, his warm breath tickling her burning cheek:

"What is it, Hermione? Scared to admit that you are attracted to me, Draco Malfoy?"

She remained still, albeit slightly unnerved, judging by how her body tensed against his.

"I'm afraid I do not know what this is, but you and I both want it, and we know it."

His lips moved against that spot right beneath her ear, ghosting ever so slightly over her skin, setting it on fire. Her breath hitched, unnoticeable to everyone but him, who was aware of her every little tremble and gesture. She turned her head, still looking past him, her lips now mere millimeters away from his:

"You seem much more in need than I am, Professor Malfoy."

Merlin, the things it did to him when she spoke his name in such a sultry tone…it was strange, unnerving.

"Besides, I'm not your little bitch at your beck and call. If you want me—" he closed his eyes, intoxicated with her scent, the sweet spices and citrusy hints overflowing his senses. "—you'll have to get to me first."

Granger ran away in a ruffle of skirts, leaving him standing there like an imbecile for a few seconds, all flustered, before going after her. All that was left there were a few feeble blue flecks, sparkling on the window sill.

And thus the chase began, unbeknownst to a malicious smile.

Author's note: Once again thank you to my beta, SnakePrincess101, for correcting my writing and helping me with this chapter! I know it might seem like Draco and Hermione are acting a bit weird, I would go as far as to say a bit OOC, but there's a reason for it which I'll reveal in the next chapter or so. I genuinely hope you liked this, and please consider leaving a review? I'd love to hear other people's opinions :)

b-bye, Daya


	12. Chapter 11: Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Gen
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR except the plot which is mine
> 
> A/N: I suggest listening to Pretty Boy by Cavale while reading this

Chapter 11: Closer

Granger was disappearing just around the corner of the Grand Staircase when Draco stormed out of the Great Hall. He paused briefly, looking around the empty, dimly lit Entrance Hall. Catching sight of her brown curls flying in the air whipped behind her in her haste, he ran after her, climbing the steps two by two, unaware of the whispers of the Portraits as he passed.

"Wasn't that Miss Granger, Harry Potter's friend?"

"Dear Merlin, she has changed. A woman of great beauty, I believe, judging by the glimpse we were graced with."

"And who might that fine gentleman chasing her be?"

"A Malfoy, if you ask me."

"Shan't that be Professor Malfoy, the Potions Master?"

"Why, yes, now that you say so, my dear friend, I do see the resemblance."

"How bizarre though, weren't they enemies back in their school years?"

"That Potter boy used to run around getting into the worst of troubles, with Miss Granger and Mister Weasley!"

"May Merlin preserve us from such troubles again."

"Right! And young Malfoy harbored particular hate towards them."

"He and his family were Deatheaters. I remember! He called her a Mudblood!"

"Oh please! Do not pronounce such a disgraceful and vile word!"

"But pray tell, why is he chasing her?"

"Oh Circe! a lover's quarrel!"

"Do not speak such foolish words. Two Hogwarts Professors may not be thus involved."

"Ah, but young love, such as beauty and attraction, such vivacious minds…"

"Non, non. I contest, zere iz somezing very vrong about zis."

"Nay, we shall enjoy the entertainment while we can."

Draco was completely oblivious to the intricate conversations and theories being woven around him, his mind solely focused on the brunette running away from him. Granger was a very fast runner, especially considering her long dress and heels. She did not seem to have a precise destination, and yet he had an inkling as to where she might be going. He continued running through corridor after corridor, in hopes of catching up to her. When he turned yet another corner, he spotted a tapestry of a unicorn with a twinkling eye in a forest of thorns, which hung next to a painting of river nymphs covered in algae and blossoming aquatic flowers. Nearing the tapestry, he tapped a slab of the bare wall between said arras and the giggling nymphs five times with his wand, before pushing it open. A portion of the wall caved in, leaving just enough space for a thin, short person to pass.

"Lumos," he whispered. The tip of his stylized, sleek, wand lit up, the soft beams of bluish light piercing through the darkness. Crouching down, he stepped into the dark stone passage. His quick-paced steps resonated in the small corridor, echoing, like lost voices. Names, words, and spells were carved into the walls, next to small drawings and crude sketches. Reaching the end of the corridor, he pushed a stone with the words "Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs" engraved in it, which then revealed another one of Hogwarts' countless hallways. He got out of the passage, not noticing the dull blue shine that had settled on its walls.

Going up yet another staircase, he reached the 5th floor, finally hearing the loud clicking of Granger's heels. He turned around the corner and saw her. Hair flying wild, skirts bunched up in her hands, untidy, unladylike.

So unlike the Hermione Granger he'd seen this evening, instead she was more like the girl he had met all those years ago.

He loved it.

Draco sped up, his feet pummelling the ground. Hearing his strong, fast paces, she glanced over her shoulder. A small shriek escaped her lips when she saw him nearing her with every second. Kicking off her heels, she ran faster, now barefoot. The blonde wizard, who, enjoying the chase, hadn't been running very quickly until now, accelerated, going after her, crazed. He was akin to a hunter, hunting his prey, coming closer than ever before. His heart pumped the blood through every vessel showering his body, heels digging into the stone floor. The chilly night breezes whirling through Hogwarts, finding every nook and cranny to squeeze into, wheezed through his hair and sunk into his shirt. He didn't feel any of it though, as he was excited, exhilarated, overcome by desire and arousal. It was like a white wolf chasing a doe, who, hoping to escape her predator, just got more and more trapped in the puppeteer master's game. Still trying to run away, Granger attempted to open the door at the end of the hallway, which led to the next one, but Draco was faster. Whipping out his wand, he pointed it at the door and whispered:

"Colloportus."

The lock closed with a small click. The brunette witch found herself trapped, with no way forward and no way back, while he leisurely reached her, smirking:

"There's no way out now, is there, darling?"

He kept getting closer and closer, noting her apprehension by the way her shoulder tensed. With a trembling hand, she raised her wand, pointing it at his face.

"Tsk, that's not really nice," he cooed.

He gripped her wrist firmly, eliciting a small gasp from her.

Her fingers slackened as she stood frozen in front of him, almost entranced, letting him gently slip her wand out of her grasp.

"Look at me," he whispered.

She refused, keeping her head down, eyes low.

"Look. At. Me," he repeated, sliding the tip of her wand, now in his possession, under her chin, lifting it up. He saw distress, mixed with curiosity in her darkened brown eyes, she slightly dilated pupils hinting at her desire.

"You're mine," he claimed, leaning forward, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth, running along her cheek, eyes staring into one another's, his voice low and soft.

"I'm not," she mumbled, her words barely perceptible.

"What are you saying?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I said, I'm not yours. I don't belong to anyone. I thought that much would be clear by now," she scoffed, frowning.

"Ah, but that was our deal, princess. I catch you, and I win you," he grinned, flashing her his pearly white teeth.

"I am not some prize to be won," spat Granger. "And I certainly do not belong to a Death Eater, a disappointment, a weak—"

"Don't you fucking dare finish that sentence," interrupted Draco, growling, eyes narrowed.

"—ling," she breathed.

He saw red.

With a surge of violence, he pinned her to the wall, her head hitting the stone behind her with a loud, sickening crunch. She winced in pain, refusing to look away though, glaring at him. Neither of them said anything for several minutes, just scowling at each other, breathing heavily. The hallway around them was freezing, the stones icy, however, they were scorching hot. She was trapped under him, encircled by an elbow on either side of her head, backed up against the wall, pinned down. Granger was quite tall, yet he loomed over her, towering. Their breaths ghosted over each other's faces, hers citrusy and spicy, warm…his minty and fresh, cold. Granger's wild curls brushed against his bare arms, revealed by the sleeves of his dress shirt, rolled at the elbows. He felt the sporadic rising and sinking of her chest against his, her hands grazing his narrow hips. He was very close to her, way too close for her comfort, and he knew it. He was burning up, almost as if his insides were melting, positive she experienced the same feelings. Nevertheless, he still kept his game face on, playing the role of the satisfied hunter who had caught his prey.

"You are sick," she seethed.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, along her sharp cheekbone, all the way to her chin, where it fell, getting lost in the folds of their clothes. With the tip of his index, he traced the same path down her face, ending at her neck. His knuckles pressed lightly against her shivering skin.

"Maybe."

Draco's voice was soft, like cascades of silk, bewitching her, reaching every little nerve in her body, caressing every fiber, like fingers dancing across the fine strings of a harp.

"Maybe I am sick," he repeated, "for wanting to do the wickedest of things for you…"

This time, his tone was thoughtful, with a dark, raging, mysterious edge to it, which cut right through Hermione's barriers, breaking them down, piece by piece, uncovering every layer, as she waited in apprehension, watching him, munching on her lower lip. He paused briefly, before continuing:

"But so are you, Granger."

It was as if her name, spoken by his lips, echoed around them, calling out to her, inviting, pushing, tempting. Unwillingly, she straightened up, her face nearing his, her lips reaching for the blonde wizard's, wanting, aching for contact. He could see the needing, almost desperate look in her eyes, his own dilated pupils reflected in them. The brunette witch's lips were incredibly inviting, their pink plumpness now more scarlet than anything else, like a ripe cherry waiting to be plucked. They were both in a trance-like state, his knuckles still outlining patterns on her neck, his other hand moving unconsciously in circular motions along her waist. Her palms were pressed against the cold stone wall, propping her up.

"What—what do you mean?" She stumbled over her words.

Blue sparkles hung in the air around them.

Draco could feel the heat levels rising by the second, his heartbeat picking up the pace. The air around them hung heavy full of tension, full of promises. Her tongue flicked out, wetting her lower lip. He sucked in a breath.

Without any further warning, his lips crashed against hers. He had finally claimed his prize.

Granger felt soft, warm, and moist under his rough, demanding mouth. Her hands crept up his back, delineating every muscle, grazing his shoulders, fingers ending up tangled in his platinum-colored locks. His strong but refined hands rose higher up her ribcage, his thumbs digging into the bottom part of her breasts. She gasped in surprise, her lips parting, allowing his tongue to dart past them.

It was...magnificent. Everything they had ever imagined, in their obscurest and deepest forbidden fantasies.

She tasted like Christmas, like warm apple pie dusted with cinnamon, doused in vanilla sauce with just a hint of orange and spices.

He deepened the kiss.

He tasted like peppermint chocolate. A smooth, dark, sweet, and creamy richness with a slight bitter tang to it, and a sharp, icy, mint freshness.

They devoured each other. Their lips moved in unison against one another's, hard, punishing, yearning for more. His tongue snaked around hers, she retaliated, coiling hers around his. It was not just pure desire and hunger, and it was most definitely not a sweet, romantic kiss. This was a challenge, an affront, a battle of control, each trying to assert dominance over the other. They explored every millimeter of each other's mouths with ardor and zeal, but also rage and violence. His hands roamed freely across her body, leaving angry reddish marks, down her waist, gripping under her thigh, hiking it up to his hips. She wrapped her legs around Draco's waist, her fingers still entangled in his blonde hair, sinking into his scalp, raking their way to the nape of his neck where they left crescent-shaped marks. Moss green silk and organza spilled around them. Granger's back was pressed into the hard stone wall, as if wanting to leave an imprint, her sweet lips still hungry for his. Teasing, his tongue slithered away from her longing mouth, dropping small kisses up her jaw, reaching her ear.

"This is what I meant," he purred, chuckling, aware of the shivers the low rumbles sent up her spine.

Backing up ever so slightly, he took a moment to observe her, to look at her. Her wild curls, now even messier than usual and disheveled, framed her delicate face. Stray copper-colored ringlets cast curling shadows over her flushed skin. Her reddish-pink lips were swollen, and her intelligent coffee eyes shone like two tiny stars in the semi-darkness. She cocked her head inquisitively, and stared back, noting every little detail of his face, committing it to memory. His usually perfectly styled hair was now tousled, his alabaster skin dusted with faint pink, and his pale lips bruised red. But what struck her most in his appearance, were his eyes. They were… mesmerizing. There was no other word to describe what she saw in them. His previously stark, cold, liquid silver eyes were now of a darker shade of grey. For the first time, she saw warmth sparkling in those deep, mysterious, and impenetrable pools of argent. It was just like watching coals burning in a fireplace, all dark and charred, speckled with small spurts of ruby flames. Smoldering, intense, ardent.

She felt her knees weaken and buckle, and would have probably fallen to her knees if it weren't for his strong arms holding her up, a hand softly sinking into the folds of her dress, resting on her bum. Two small, thin, white scars, right under the corner of his left eye, tarnished the wizard's otherwise perfect skin. Another one stretched from the top to the bottom of the right ear. She looked closer and saw that all across his face, faint, barely perceptible, white marks scarred his handsome visage.

"How?" She whispered.

"Knives, scalpels, curses…" he replied.

"Why?"

"Punishment."

He looked away.

"Where?"

"Family manor," he sighed.

She opened her mouth, ready to say something, but closed it again, deciding against voicing whatever thought she had in mind.

"Who?" She urged finally.

For all answer, Draco shook his head gently, closing his eyes. Just for a fraction of a second, his features contorted into a pained expression, before his eyes flashed open again, burning up. He twisted one of Granger's curls around his finger, transfixed. Cupping her cheek, he grazed her chin with his thumb, flicking her bottom lip, and settled on the corner of her mouth, moving in small circular motions.

"Did I already tell you, you look gorgeous tonight?" He mumbled, for himself more than anyone else.

A smile lit up her pensive face.

"You know, your scars make you more handsome than you already are, Draco Malfoy," she giggled. "I like my men imperfectly gorgeous, and you are positively dashing, dare I say. That smirk of yours could charm the clothes off of anyone." The brunette witch wiggled her eyebrows, grinning flirtatiously.

"And I, think that you, Hermione Granger, have had a few glasses too many of fire whiskey," he replied, shaking his head.

"Why does it matter? So have you," she mocked, before kissing him again.

He could feel his insides burning up, temperature rising, setting him ablaze. He always felt so cold, indifferent to everyone, not giving a damn shite about everything, burying it all deep within him, bottling it up, numb to everything positive. But for once, he was on fire.

This time, he let her take over. She ran her tongue along with his, tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth, hot, rough, and penetrating. She playfully pulled away, breathless, after a few minutes.

"Come back here," he growled, grasping her throat possessively, and pressing his lips to hers again, invading. Teasing, she pushed him away, and taking him by the hand, she ran, dragging him behind her, giggling lightly like a little girl.

The stone cooled down again in their absence, chilly winds taking over everything. A pair of golden stilettos lay forgotten and abandoned in one of Hogwarts' numerous hallways, bathing in a pool of pearlescent moonlight. Blue sparkles, carried by the breezes, settled on the heels.

Author's note: Phew, this was a bit different for me, I usually don't write this type of stuff that often, but honestly I'm pretty happy with it. There's a second part to this chapter coming soon, and then I will finally unveil the whole mystery! Just know that there's a reason to why they're acting so OOC...Anyways, stay safe and strong during these crazy times! Also, feel free to check out my Instagram hogwartssslove, where I post some moodboards for every chapter :)

All the love to SnakePrincess101 (on Fanction.net) for betaing <3

b-bye, Daya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Phew, this was a bit different for me, I usually don't write this type of stuff that often, but honestly I'm pretty happy with it. There's a second part to this chapter coming soon, and then I will finally unveil the whole mystery! Just know that there's a reason to why they're acting so OOC...Anyways, stay safe and strong during these crazy times! Also, feel free to check out my Instagram hogwartssslove, where I post some moodboards for every chapter :)
> 
> All the love to SnakePrincess101 (on Fanction.net) for betaing b-bye, Daya


	13. Chapter 12: Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Gen
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything you recognize from the Harry Potter franchise belongs to JKR and her team

Chapter 12: Again

Hermione's giggles resonated through the empty corridor, her fast paces echoing as she ran, green silk rushing and rustling around her. Behind her, Malfoy, trailed after her, an ever-looming shadow, fast, dangerous, and mysterious. Stray moonlight beams filtered through the tall, arched, glass windows, bouncing off the walls and the cobblestones; dancing around them, bathing them in their cold, silver light. She walked up to a window, pressing her hands and face to the cold glass, like a little girl. What she saw took her breath away.

The entirety of the Hogwarts grounds was covered in a thin blanket of snow. The tips of the Forbidden Forest's trees were dusted with millions of little glistening snowflakes as if coated in icing sugar. Flowers, branches, and bushes were trapped, frozen in ice capsules. Tiny ice crystals settled on the glass panels of the greenhouses, glacial swirls decorating the windows and stones of the old castle. A flimsy sheet of ice covered the Black Lake, its whirling dark waters flowing under it. The night sky was ink black, cloudless, and speckled with millions of little stars, glowing bright white. Everything shone dully under the starlight, every single minute snow diamond shimmering softly, ethereally beautiful.

She enveloped all of it with her gaze, in awe, while Malfoy leaned against the wall next to her, arms crossed. An omnipresent, lone, black silhouette, keeping her company.

"Sirius Black was named after a star, as per Black family tradition. They always named their children after a celestial body; a star, a constellation, a galaxy," she blurted out all of a sudden, still staring at the sky, amazed.

"I know," he answered, detaching himself from the wall, stepping behind her. "My mother was a Black before becoming a Malfoy. Sirius Black was her cousin…She named me after the Draco constellation in the far northern sky. It means dra—"

"Dragon in Latin," she interrupted, finishing his sentence for him with a smile.

Silence regained them.

After a few more minutes, Hermione finally spoke:

"He was a good man you know?"

"Who?" Asked Malfoy, emerging from his thoughts.

"Sirius," she replied quietly. "He was Harry's godfather, James Potter's best friend, too. He died during the Battle of the Department of the Mysteries…murdered by your aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange."

A small shiver coursed through her, and she felt Malfoy's whole body tense at the mention of the deceased witch.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," he said slowly, his tone hard and unyielding.

She turned to look at him.

His jaw was clenched, his cold eyes fixated on a precise point in the landscape offering itself to his eyes, yet seemingly vacant.

"She was…an interesting person. Very intelligent, and also an extremely talented and powerful witch. She excelled at everything she did, anything she would put her mind to, she would accomplish. Her dueling skills were unforgivably impeccable as well. She was brilliant in her own ways, but she was a madwoman. She would say certain things sometimes…deep down I believe my aunt was a severely scarred and broken person, which made her spiral down into craziness. I…"

He left his sentence hanging, obviously holding something back, but Hermione paid it no mind. She was already quite surprised at his talkativeness and his willingness to share such things with her, although doubtful of his claims about his aunt. Gently touching his hand again, she whispered:

"Come on."

They kept walking down the corridor until they reached the simple mahogany door with the bejeweled handle leading to the Prefect's Bathroom.

"Pine Breeze," she said before opening it, the regular whirring of the wheels in the magical lock ending with a small click.

The last time she was here, she hadn't taken the time to truly observe and relish her surroundings, flustered and bothered as she was that night. Turning slowly on her heel, she took it all in.

The white marble floor felt cold under her bare feet, shadows darted between the antique-greek style colons, and blue-greenish light emanated from the windows, filtering through the colored glass. The tranquil waters lapped gently at the smooth edges of the grey-stricken white marble pool. On each side, perfectly ordered lines of golden jewel-encrusted taps waited to be turned on and let out the odorant oils and bubbly soaps they kept in their cold metal entrails. A neat pile of stacked, fluffy, towels rested in a woven basket, which stood in one corner of the room. Looking up, she saw seven triangular glass panels, forming a heptagon, their tips joining in one central point, where a big, fat, blue gem sat tightly in its frame. The transparent crystal offered a splendid view of the star-speckled night sky. Engraved in the glass, was a shifting celestial map of constellations, stars, planets, and other celestial bodies.

Hermione had begun to mentally name and spot the said stars and identify the constellations, when a loud splash resonated behind her, dragging her away from her thoughts. Swiftly spinning around, she looked all over the place, scanning her vicinity. All she saw was large ripples troubling the previously calm surface of the water, and a slim shadow gliding in the pool's depths. Suddenly, Malfoy emerged from the water, still fully clothed.

"Why the hell would you jump into the pool without taking off your clothes?" She asked, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"I assumed Miss Prude over there, meaning you if you need clarifications, would be more than slightly offended if I had stripped naked," he retorted, smirking. "Am I wrong?"

A furious blush reddened her cheeks, just as a light mocking giggle sounded from her right. Facing the direction from where the noise came, she discovered a beautiful fair-skinned mermaid, sitting graciously on algae and seashell covered rock, in the middle of an azure sea. Her long blonde hair swayed in the wind, and her elegant tail hid playfully between the foamy waves. Eyes filled with glee, she laughed behind her delicate hand with which she gracefully hid her mouth, charming sounds escaping her throat, ridiculing and deriding her. Disgruntled, the young Transfiguration Professor frowned, glaring at the mermaid, who, flashing her a cheeky grin, disappeared in the sea of her Portrait.

"My, my, you even got the Portraits to make fun of you, Granger," Laughed Malfoy, still submerged in the pool, the calm waters reaching his muscled chest.

"But you…you ruined a perfectly good suit, you idiot! How much did you even pay for that?" She returned, ignoring his snide remark.

"Changing the subject again," he tsked. "But to answer your question, two, maybe three, thousand galleons, I don't quite remember. Very fine quality, and tailored specially for me. It is made out of Acromantula silk, you know?"

"THREE THOUSAND GALLEONS!? Do you know how many good causes you could have supported with such amounts of money? How many people could you have helped? How many better uses you could have found for three FREAKING thousand galleons? And you destroyed your suit so stupidly too!"

"Hey, calm down. It's not that big of an issue, I could buy a hundred more of these right this moment if I wished to do so. I do need a new one now that I "ruined" this one as you so perfectly described. I must admit, it is quite bothersome to have to travel to Italy again. Such a time-consuming activity, don't you think? He drawled.

"You don't impress me with your money, Malfoy," Glowered Hermione, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"I know," said the wizard lightly. "But my money is the least impressive thing about me, darling," He added after pausing briefly, pulling himself out of the pool by the sheer force of his arms.

Her breath caught in her throat, as she watched him stand in front of her, dripping wet. His soaked through, white silk shirt clung to his slim, sinewy, frame, glued to his skin, transparent, outlining each and every one of his six abdominals, defining every inch of his sculpted chest. His messy, platinum hair hung in wet locks over his face, begging for hands to run through them and tangle themselves in them. His black trousers stuck to his narrow hips and long athletic legs. The sleeves of his shirt rolled at the elbows revealed his alabaster skin, which gleamed dully in the silver shine of the stars, falling from the sheer ceiling. The wretched, horrifying skull and the twisting serpent of his Dark Mark glared at her, stark black against the pallor of his inner left forearm. All around it, the skin was bruised, scarred, and red, as if it were constantly being scratched and rubbed: futile attempts to remove it. A droplet of crystalline water slipped from his long light lashes, running down his cheek like a lone tear.

"What are you staring at, Granger?" Malfoy smirked. "Enjoying the view?" An amused expression appeared on his chiseled aristocratic features.

"N-nothing," She mumbled, a scalding, red blush creeping up her cheeks.

"It's alright, don't be ashamed. There's plenty to look at," He chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, nearing her.

She tried to look away, embarrassed but found herself unable to tear her eyes off of him, feeling very strange. She had always considered the former Slytherin to be a fairly good-looking man, but she had never felt this intensely attracted to him, almost unnaturally so.

"You're flustered," he declared, "and aching for more."

Grasping her hand, he placed it on his cold wet cheek, and let it slowly slide down his neck, chest, and torso, her palm tracing and skimming his muscles. His fingers still tightly wound around her wrist, he rested her hand on his stomach, looking right into her eyes, challenging, daring her to go further. She could feel the heaviness of the soaked fabric of his dress shirt under her fingertips, and the hard, smooth surface of his skin, covering his taut muscles. Hermione attempted to yank her hand away, but he kept it firmly in place, splaying out her fingers, allowing her to take consciousness of the dips and bumps, of the rigid spots and irregularities of his otherwise perfect skin.

Uneasiness still swirled in the pits of her stomach, and she caught sight of a peculiar, uncertain blue glint in Malfoy's usually steel-gray eyes. Once again, the blue sparks that had settled on the walls and floor around them, escaped their notice. They stood in front of each other in a trance-like state, as if frozen in time, when she broke out of it without warning, and throwing her arms around his neck, kissed him fiercely with violence. His lips moved roughly against hers, his tongue granting itself immediate access to her mouth. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her flush against his body and attempted to deepen the kiss, yet she remained strangely unresponsive. All of a sudden, she withdrew from his embrace, smiling teasingly.

"Take it off," she requested, biting her lower lip as per habit.

"Huh?"

"Your shirt, take it off."

"Are you sure?" He interrogated.

"Positive," she replied, breathless.

Leisurely unbuttoning his dress shirt, he let it slide down his broad shoulders, shrugging it off. She immediately noticed the two tattoos: three majestic blackbirds flying along his collarbone, and a coiling spiral of intertwined narcissus, growing directly from his hip, swirling up across his toned washboard abs, the last bud blossoming right under his left pectoral. Several, long, thin, rough-edged scars tore through his chest and torso, reminders of Snape's curse which Harry had inflicted upon him during their duel in the bathroom in the sixth year. Their stark whiteness and the faint pink on the edges detached themselves on his pale skin, contrasting with the fine, elegant, black ink lines.

Hermione came closer to him, and reaching out, gently ran her fingers along his collarbone, caressing the dark fluttering wings of the birds. Looking closer, she saw that one of the eagles was bigger and more imposing than the others, its wings beating the air furiously. The one that trailed after him was much weaker, its figure finer, and its flight feeble. The last one, smaller than the other two, was far behind them, flapping its wings frantically, as if trying to escape, desperate, pulling in the opposite direction, but not strong enough to overcome whatever force was pushing him forward. Her fingers followed the everlasting, silvery slash marks down his body, feeling the unnatural smoothness of the skin, surrounded by the hard, raspy rims of the cicatrices. With great care, she traced the twisting stems of the narcissus and the curling edges of the delicate petals. Wherever her touch passed, the flowers would tremble a little, bristling, closing in on themselves, recoiling, as if afraid of the foreign contact, just to open back again moments later, flourishing brightly. Malfoy just watched silently, transfixed, as Hermione's hands roamed freely across his chest.

"Loony Lovegood made these for me," he finally sighed.

"Luna? Luna Lovegood? Really? How so?"

"I was on a business trip in Paris, Muggle Paris. It was somewhere near the Luxembourg gardens, I believe. I just happened to come across her, sitting on the ledge of a fountain, sketching. I must admit, she is a phenomenal drawer and a wonderful artist. She said something about nargles too, not quite sure what it was exactly about. Anyhow, I asked her if she would be willing to make a couple of reference sketches for some tattoos I had in mind. She agreed and offered to tattoo me herself, to which I said yes. She took me to this beautiful little studio she owns in Montmartre, full of bizarre sculptures made out of butterbeer corks and other equally strange objects, as well as paintings depicting the war and stacks of drawings. I spent the whole night there, while she drew and charmed these," he finished, nodding at the dark ink covering his body.

"Tattoo magic is a very old and fascinating magical practice of the indigenous tribes, I had no idea it was still practiced. I thought it had died out…" said Hermione thoughtfully.

"I believe Luna is one of the rare few remaining practitioners. In any case, she is good at it."

"I never thought you out of all people would have such a close relationship with Luna Lovegood," she replied.

"She's a good listener," he answered without elaborating.

Lowering her eyes, the curly-haired witch smiled softly, secretly pleased by the ease with which he shared these things with her. Sinking to the floor, she sat down on the cold marble, pulling up her skirt, to reveal her shin. A tiny golden brown lion slipped peacefully on her skin right above her ankle, his paws resting on a well-ordered stack of books. A red rose was neatly tucked in its wild mane.

"His name is Hugo. He was also made by Luna, I was the second person she ever tattooed, as far as I know, the first being Ginny Weasley."

Her voice was kind and affectionate, her love for the tattooed animal piercing right through her words.

"The books stand for my intelligence, my eagerness to learn, and my love for knowledge and wiseness. Hugo represents everything Gryffindor stands for, courage, nerve, bravery, chivalry. He's a reminder of my core beliefs, of who I am, a means to never forget my real self and my values."

Gently tickling the little lion, she whispered, rousing him:

"Wake up, Hugo. Wake up!"

Hugo opened his eyes, of a warm brown speckled with amber flecks, fierce and valiant. Shaking out his long tousled mane, he rose, letting out a mighty little roar. Hermione giggled, delighted, as the golden lion started pacing back and forth on her skin. Her laugh was so infectious, that Malfoy couldn't help but chuckle lightly as well. With the tip of his index, he touched Hugo's mane slightly, who growled in response, before contently purring. She held her breath as his finger ran along her ankle. It felt as if tiny electric shocks discharged right into her skin, sending delicious trembles all over her body. The blonde wizard smiled, well aware of the effects he induced on her, yet barely keeping his turmoil hidden. His fine hand caressed its way up her skin, circling her knee, hiking the heavy mass of green silk up her waist, revealing her thigh. He continued his burning path across her leg, finally reaching her hip. His back was now pressed against the icy floor, the brown-haired witch sitting on top of him, a confident smile stretching her pink lips. Unable to handle the tension any longer, Hermione leaned down to kiss him, sweet and sensual, her hands digging into his shoulders. His body was wet and hard under hers, yet searingly hot. They were now dangerously close to the pool. Laying back on his elbows, he looked at her, a perfectly shaped inquisitive eyebrow raised. She suddenly realized that she felt very confused and unsure of everything that had happened between them this evening, it wasn't natural, and something was amiss, but she brushed it off, the alcohol clouding her mind. Catching her by surprise, Malfoy flipped them around, and she found herself pinned down, most of his weight heaving on her, impeding her movement. Again, the doubts wrecked their way into her mind, nagging her.

"What are we doing?" She mumbled, brushing a platinum lock hanging over his eyes away.

He shrugged, his mouth latching instead onto her clavicle, her neck, his lips whispering sweet nothings against her throat. Caught up in her as he was, he failed to notice the mischief sparkling in her eyes. All of a sudden, she pushed him off of her and catching him off guard, swung him into the pool, watching as his body sank rapidly into the lukewarm water. He reemerged mere seconds later, kicking off the ledge, he swam away, splashing and dousing her with water in the process. Diving into the depths of the large marble piscina, he resurfaced in front of her.

"Again, quite nasty and evil, Granger," he grunted. But this time, she did not laugh or smile. The water had had the effect of a cold shower on her, dissipating the fire whiskey cloud which had settled over her mind.

"What are we doing, Malfoy?" She repeated, staring sternly into his gray eyes, all semblants of alcohol-induced amusement gone from hers, her smile replaced by a serious mask.

"Having fun?" He suggested, not sounding quite so sure of himself. "Fooling around?"

"We are supposed to hate each other, we always have. We are on opposite sides, we don't get along. Constant insulting and arguing with each other is what our professional relationship is like. You abused me since we were kids, I punched you, and…and now here we are, making out in the Hogwarts Hallways at night, in the Prefect's Bathroom. What if we got caught? Can you imagine the scandal? As Professors, we can't be involved in such ways. What the fuck is this?"

She grew more and more alarmed by the second. Around them, it was as if the stars had descended from the skies, blue sparkles glittering everywhere in the room, hanging heavy in the air.

"Love, hate," he whispered. "Extremes of both, so opposite and against one another that they almost blend, and sometimes the lines get all blurry. Aren't they the same thing at the end of the day?"

The corner of his mouth twitched as if to stretch into a smile, but his eyes were cold again and befuddled.

"It's wrong. This is all wrong, you know it just as well as I do," she replied. "I was finally starting to find a normal rhythm in my life, leaving all the shite in my past, putting an order in this mess…And then somehow you came back and became a fucking Professor at Hogwarts, and this idiotic dinner party thing occurred, and now I'm here, kissing you, Draco Malfoy, Potions Professor. It is scandalous and indecent. We are teachers for Merlin's sake, teachers!"

Hermione's voice grew louder and angrier with every word she spoke.

"This is strange, and unnatural, and not okay, I…"

Malfoy watched as she sat there, surrounded by the green silk of her dress speckled with droplets of water, hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, eyes full of distress. He felt unusually bizarre as well, but the feeling remained drowned out by alcohol.

"I…I want an ordinary, calm life. I nee—"

"Never," he cut her off, " love someone who makes you feel ordinary, who doesn't challenge you every fucking day, who doesn't excite you, and loves you, and makes you feel extraordinary every single damn moment of your life."

Hermione's headache was pounding, stronger than ever, as she stood up, and shook her head puzzled:

"I…I'm sorry I have to go. Goodnight, Malfoy…"

Picking up a towel and drying herself off a little, she made her way to the door amidst the darting shadows of the Prefect's Bathroom. She turned around one last time and called out after him:

"Oscar Wilde, color me impressed!"

"Culture," he brushed it off.

With those parting words, she rushed out of the room, leaving behind her only the fluffy white towel on the marble floor.

Hermione ran all the way back to the suite she shared with Harry, feeling like her body weighed a ton as if her legs were made out of steel and her feet of stone. A severe headache crept its way into her mind, clouding everything with pain: it felt as if hundreds of thin little needles pressed into her head, puncturing her scalp. But she kept on running, up and down staircases, through twisting corridors, swerving left and right around armor suits, turning around corners, not stopping until she reached the portrait guarding her's and her best friend's rooms. The painting depicted an old, rather heavy-set wizard dressed in teal-colored robes, sitting in a large puffy armchair, amidst floor-to-ceiling carved bookshelves decked with thousands of dusty books. A little girl, sporting a light pink, almost white dress, sat on his knobbly knees, looking like a joyous porcelain doll.

"Miss Granger," greeted her the wizard, "you look quite charming tonight, yet seemingly perturbed. Care to share your troubles?"

His voice was low and raspy, tinged by a slight French accent. Laughter wrinkles covered his rotund, red-cheeked face.

"Hermione! Papi read me a book about dragons today, and we visited his friend, the Fat Lady!" Exclaimed the little girl, her high-pitched, childish voice full of excitement. Her small, chubby hands brandished a large, leather-bound book with a painted cover.

'"That is wonderful, Sylvie, and thank you, but no Mr. Rosier. I wouldn't want to bother you and I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a rush to get to my bed," she answered kindly, stifling a yawn. "Lion's den…"

"Well in that case…"

The portrait swung open and she hurriedly climbed through the portrait hole. As soon as she entered the common room, Harry and Ginny pooped up from behind the large velvet couches, looking flustered. Their clothes were crumpled and their hair was messy; Harry's glasses sat crookedly on the tip of his nose, and Ginny's cheeks were flushed pink. Both of them appeared quite pleased if slightly disconcerted, but Hermione pretended not to see anything, paying their appearances no mind. She was glad to see her two friends happy: they deserved at least that after everything they had been put through.

"Hermione!" said Harry nervously, straightening his glasses. "Didn't expect you quite so soon…"

"It's alright, I won't hold you up. I was actually heading to bed," she answered, yawning.

"Right, erm, goodnight then."

"Goodnight, and, please don't be too noisy. I'm happy to see you two well and all, but I would like to get some sleep," She added teasingly before opening the door leading to her room, flashing them a knowing grin.

Her best friend nodded awkwardly, running a hand through his already impossibly messy hair, while his girlfriend winked cheekily at her.

"Oh and Hermione," called out Ginny. "Please keep the dress, it looks much better on you than it does on me, I look quite pale in it."

The curly-haired witch inclined her head absentmindedly, deciding against a pointless argument, figuring she would just give it back to the younger Weasley tomorrow morning.

The minute she closed the door of her room behind her, she slipped out of her dress, not bothering to hang it up, and threw on her pajamas. Remembering to cast a Silencio just in case, she headed to her potions cabinet, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to sleep. Rummaging briefly between the numerous corked bottles, she finally found a carefully labeled vial of Sleeping Draught. Unstoppering it, she took a small gulp, before putting it back, and sinking into her warm bed, burying herself deep under the numerous blankets. The second her head hit the pillow, she fell asleep, drowsy from the potion's effects.

Hermione woke up early, slightly hungover, and in a bad mood. The Sleeping Draught hadn't helped much, as the quantity she had drunk hadn't been sufficient to stifle her over-worked mind. Her sleep had been restless and plagued by nightmares reminiscent of the war, and she awoke famished and fatigued. Cursing loudly at the sight of the stormy grey sky and the thin incessant rain behind her window, she carelessly threw on cream-colored robes and quickly plaited her wild curls, before downing an anti-hangover potion. Without even bothering to wait for Harry, she walked briskly through the gloomy corridors, accompanied by the relentless pattering of the rain against the windows and cold walls of the castle, which turned the previously beautiful snowed grounds of Hogwarts into a sludgy, muddy mess. Few students were to be seen in the Great Hall when she entered it, and only Nightshade and Neville sat at the teacher's table at this early hour. Plopping down on a free seat next to Neville and muttering a brief greeting, she served herself a hefty amount of honey-drizzled yogurt with nuts and berries. She was about to peel her orange when the doors of the Great Hall opened again, clattering loudly and causing her to wince at the sharp pain which briefly manifested in her head, while Malfoy walked in a swish of billowing black robes. Hermione frowned, remembering yesterday night's events, and groaned audibly, not ready at all to have the conversation. She couldn't help but notice that the Potions Professor looked particularly irritated and aggravated this morning, more so than usual. Reaching the table he looked up and met her eyes, just as she brought her coffee mug to her lips. All of a sudden he lunged and he knocked it out of her grasp, burning black coffee splashing everywhere and staining her robes.

"MALFOY! What the actual fuck?" She shouted, growling with pain as the scorching liquid stung her skin.

"Granger, you and I are the only two teachers at Hogwarts who drink pure black coffee right?" He questioned urgently.

"Yes, but—"

"Look," he said gravely while pointing at the spilled coffee in which swirls of blue sparkles swam peacefully. "We have been bewitched, Granger."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Sorry for the little cliffhanger...This took a long time because I've been very busy, but finally I managed to get this done. Also for my instagram, it changed, you can now find me under marauderswriting where I post one-shots, text posts, head canons and fan art, so feel free to check it out. Maybe consider leaving a review? :)
> 
> Thank you to SnakePrincess101 for being an amazing beta!
> 
> b-bye, daya


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